Twixt Truth and Dark Deceit
by another fine mess
Summary: AU, fem!Draco, Slytherin!Harry. There's a Cerberus on the third floor, Harry's broom wants him dead, and he's got a bet with Draco that might kill him. First year at Hogwarts looks like it'll be very interesting, if only he can survive it...
1. Chapter 1: The Girl in the Bookshop

**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not J. K. Rowling. Obviously, I don't own Harry Potter. Some lines are taken from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, and so they also belong to J. K. Rowling.**

 **Author's Note: This is an AU, obviously. It was inspired by the ubiquitous "Harry/Ron/insert character here is a girl" and "Slytherin!Harry" plots, but it's an attempt to take a clichéd idea (or two) and put an original spin on them. It hinges on two main differences: Draco is a girl, and Harry meets her in Flourish & Blotts instead of Madam Malkin's. I'm also disregarding or rearranging some dates. Everything else will (hopefully) become clearer later.**

 **'Twixt Truth and Dark Deceit**

 **Chapter 1: The Girl in the Bookshop**

 _And now all hearts are heard to beat,_  
 _Fluttering 'twixt truth and dark deceit,_  
 _Awed by the sense of that dreadful might,_  
 _Which, veiled in everlasting night,_  
 _Bids destiny's stern wheels move round,_  
 _As the swift moments glide away,_  
 _Is felt in the heart's depths profound,_  
 _But flees before the light of day._

\- **Friedrich von Schiller,** _ **The Cranes of Ibycus**_ **(trans. C. T. Brooks)**

"Congratulations, Miss Black!"

Bellatrix Black opened her eyes and stared blankly up at the St. Mungo's healer. If she still had her wand, she'd have Crucio'd him once for disturbing her sleep, then again for being so vague. Her husband and brother-in-law were dead at the hands of those blood traitors, the Longbottoms; her lord was missing, presumed dead by the majority of the Wizarding world; and the only reason she hadn't been Kissed or thrown in Azkaban was because she was "obviously mentally disturbed". Why was she being congratulated?

"What?" she rasped, sounding far less vicious than she meant to.

"You're an aunt! Your sister, Mrs. Malfoy, gave birth last night!"

Bellatrix snapped into wakefulness faster than Severus Snape had when she'd hit him with an Electric Shock Hex while she was in seventh year. Narcissa had had the baby? Now there was something to celebrate! A pureblood baby who would be raised properly, who would someday help rid the world of the mudbloods… Bella wished her lord could have heard this.

"Boy or girl?" she demanded, glancing at the open door behind the healer and wondering if she could run fast enough to get past him and down to the maternity ward before anyone raised the alarm.

"A girl. Mrs. Malfoy wants to name you her godmother."

Godmother? Cissy wanted Bella to be her daughter's godmother? Her sister immediately went up in Bella's estimation. She was clearly devoted to the cause, even though she hadn't physically fought for their lord, and wanted to make sure her daughter had the right influences.

"Can I see her?"

"I'm afraid not, Miss Black. Mrs. Malfoy was gravely ill, and she isn't ready to have visitors yet."

Bella stared. Cissy was ill? And this was the first she heard of it?

The healer excused himself to go about his other duties as she imagined all the horrors she'd inflict on the hospital staff the moment she was allowed access to a wand. Imperio-ing some of them and ordering them to Crucio their co-workers would be entertaining…

She shook her head, marshalling her thoughts back to her new-born niece. A girl… Lucius was probably disappointed she wasn't a boy to carry on his family name, but if she married into one of the right families... Mrs. Zabini had a son only a few months old; maybe she would let him marry young – Merlin, that idiot never told her the baby's name!

Bella decided on the spot that the luckless healer would be Imperio'd and made to Crucio himself, and promptly went back to matchmaking for her scarcely twelve-hours-old niece.

* * *

 **Eleven Years Later**

Harry Potter had been in Diagon Alley for less than half an hour, and most of that time was spent in Gringott's, but he had already come to a very important conclusion.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would drop dead of heart attacks if they ever saw this place.

There were owls flying overhead, everyone around him looked like they were on their way to a Halloween party, and there were shops with fascinating names and even more fascinating displays in their windows. In short, everything about it would be anathema to the Dursleys.

A shop selling sweets he'd never heard of before caught his eye, and he spent a good five minutes wandering around and wondering if Cockroach Clusters had real cockroaches in them and if so, why were they even on sale? No one would buy anything with _insects_ in it; the very thought was disgusting. Or were insects to wizard children what ice cream was to non-magical children? He added that to the list of things he needed to find out before going to Hogwarts.

Harry left the shop, dodging crowds of other children. Where had Hagrid told him to go? Oh, yes, he was supposed to get his uniform. He looked around for Madam Malkin's shop. There it was, and there was a pale girl just leaving.

After getting his robes and finishing the ice cream Hagrid bought him (to his relief, there were no insects or equally unappetising ingredients in it – just chocolate, raspberry and nuts), Harry searched his pockets for the letter.

"Where do I get all these books?" he asked Hagrid.

"In Flourish an' Blotts, over there," said Hagrid, pointing to a shop surrounded by stacks of books.

The inside of the shop was so filled with books Harry was afraid to move in case he brought them all crashing down on his head. Some of them looked very old, and they all had extraordinary titles. Some of the oddest ones were "Men, Monks and Gamekeepers: A Study in Popular Legend" by someone called Swanwhite and "Help! I Just Vanished My Father! Or, What to Do When Accidental Magic Gets Out of Control" by Izz E. Gone.

"Yeh 'ave a look 'round; I'll get yer books," Hagrid said.

Harry thought this was very kind, but he couldn't help wondering if it was quite safe for Hagrid to even be in the shop. If he knocked against a bookshelf…

He caught sight of a book called "Curse and Countercurses: Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges" and promptly forgot his worries. Less than a minute later, he was engrossed in a chapter that described how you could use a Vanishing Spell on someone's teeth and Transfigure a coin into a tooth, so that the person you played the trick on would think they'd suddenly lost their teeth. "Never fails to liven up a party!" the chapter declared.

 _I wonder what would happen if I used that on Uncle Vernon and Dudley,_ he thought, and grinned at the images his mind conjured.

"Entertaining reading?" a voice drawled.

Harry almost dropped the book.

"Oh… uh… Hello," he said awkwardly. "Yes, it is. Very. Entertaining, I mean."

The girl who'd spoken to him raised an eyebrow. She was about ten or eleven and the same height as him, with pale skin, light grey eyes and hair so blonde it was almost white. Harry wondered if she dyed it; Aunt Petunia had very nasty things to say about people who dyed their hair.

Belatedly, he remembered his manners. "I'm Harry Potter, who are you?"

Her mouth dropped open. " _You're_ Harry Potter? But you-"

She broke off, looking at him as a cat might look at a mouse. Harry couldn't help noticing that her clothes looked very expensive, and he suddenly became painfully aware of his own ill-fitting, worn hand-me-down T-shirt and jeans, and his trainers with holes in them.

The girl narrowed her eyes, then smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I'm Draco Malfoy. Are you going to Hogwarts this year?"

Harry blinked. "Er… yes, I am."

"I suppose you're going to be in Gryffindor?" Her smile widened and became the sort of smile you associated with a shark that smelt blood.

"Gryffindor?" Harry repeated. This conversation was rapidly becoming downright surreal, and he had the unpleasant feeling he was missing something.

"Well, of course someone with your _accomplishments_ would be in Gryffindor."

Accomplishments? Was everyone in the Wizarding world crazy, or was it just this girl? Well, if he'd been saddled with a name like "Draco" it would probably have driven him crazy, too…

"What's a Gryffindor?"

It was Draco's turn to look confused. "Gryffindor House, of course. At Hogwarts."

"…There are houses at Hogwarts? But I thought it was a school!"

By now Harry had given up any hope of understanding either the conversation or the girl. She seemed to have reached the same conclusion about him.

"You don't know. You don't even know about the houses." She said this in the voice you'd used to say someone didn't even know what the sun was.

It finally hit him that this was one of those things everyone in the Wizarding world just knew.

 _Great job, Harry,_ he thought. _First time you meet someone who grew up here and is probably going to school with you, and you make a fool of yourself._

"I'm new to all this," he offered by way of explanation. "I live with… Muggles-" he hoped he got the name right "-and there's a lot I don't know."

Draco stopped looking at him as if he needed his head examined and started looking at him as if he'd endured unspeakable tortures. "You live with _Muggles_? Why? How did you survive? I'd have killed myself if I had to live with them!"

Harry tried to answer, but she didn't give him a chance. "There are four houses in Hogwarts: Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. All the students are Sorted into whichever one they're best suited to. Slytherin's the best house; every Malfoy for ten generations has been in Slytherin, and my godfather's the head of house."

 _So_ that's _why it's the best house,_ Harry thought, smothering a grin.

"Ravenclaw's for bookworms and people who aren't completely sane."

Harry immediately hoped he wasn't Sorted into Ravenclaw.

"Hufflepuff's filled with people who are too stupid to go anywhere else," Draco continued.

That would probably be where he wound up.

"And Gryffindor's filled with the idiots even Hufflepuff won't take."

On second thought, Gryffindor might well be the place for him.

"That's fascinating," he said, reverting to what Aunt Petunia always said when she couldn't think of anything else to say. Then, because the silence was becoming awkward, "Are there real cockroaches in Cockroach Clusters?"

Draco stared. "Of course there are. Why else are they called Cockroach Clusters? And how do you know about them, anyway? Do they have them in the _Muggle_ world?" She spat "Muggle" as if it was the foulest of swear words.

"Oh, no. I just saw them in a sweet shop. Why do we need a cauldron?"

Draco continued to stare. Harry got the feeling he'd just made a fool of himself yet again.

"For making potions, idiot! Did you think we'd sail around the lake in them?"

Turning cauldrons into boats sounded far more interesting than making potions, whatever they were, but Harry decided not to say so. Maybe when they got to Hogwarts he could do some research on how to make a cauldron float…

"I bet I could," he said without thinking.

"Could what?"

"Sail around the lake in one."

Draco's eyebrows vanished into her hairline. "I bet eighty galleons you can't."

"I bet a hundred I'll do it by Halloween," Harry replied, hoping his Gringotts account had a hundred galleons in it. His pride demanded he take the bet, but he didn't hold out much hope of winning it.

"Done."

They shook hands as gravely as Uncle Vernon did when he made a very important agreement. Then Harry caught sight of the book he'd been reading when Draco first spoke to him.

"Do you know how to cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx?" he asked.

Draco smiled smugly. "Of course; everyone knows that, but I excel at it. Even Father says so. You see, you wave your wand like this, and-"

"There yeh are, 'Arry!" Hagrid boomed cheerfully, his arms full of books. "Got all yer books, I 'ave, so let's go – Who's this?"

He eyed Draco with suspicion. She eyed him with disdain. Harry didn't notice.

"This is Draco Malfoy, she's told me all about the Hogwarts houses." He left out the part about the Jelly-Legs Jinx. Something told him Hagrid wouldn't approve. "Draco, this is Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts."

"Yes, I've heard of him," Draco said with a delicate sniff.

"A Malfoy? 'Arry, yeh shouldn't be-" Hagrid sighed. "Come on, 'Arry. We've still got stuff ter buy."

"Goodbye, Draco, see you at Hogwarts," Harry called over his shoulder as he followed Hagrid out of the shop.

"Goodbye, Harry, and don't forget – by Halloween, or you lose a hundred galleons!"

Hagrid stopped and stared at him. "What's that 'bout? What've yeh got ter do by 'Alloween?"

Harry winced. That was something else Hagrid wouldn't approve of, he was sure. "Oh, nothing, just something we were talking about."

Hagrid continued to give him a troubled frown. "'Arry… there's people 'round 'ere yeh shouldn't be associatin' with. Them Malfoys… they're an awful Dark family, the lot o' 'em. Followers o' You-Know-Who, they were."

Draco's family followed Voldemort? That was a shock to Harry. She'd been so… well, "nice" wasn't quite the right word, but she'd talked to him. Very few people took the time to talk to him.

"But I liked her," he protested. "And if she'd anything to do with Vol – with You-Know-Who, wouldn't she have been mean?"

Hagrid sighed.

* * *

September 1st arrived, and Harry found himself standing in the middle of King's Cross Station with an owl in a cage, his suitcases and meagre belongings, no way of knowing where Platform 9 ¾ was, and no one to ask for help. As the clock's hands marched steadily towards eleven o'clock he became increasingly desperate. Had the ticket printed the wrong platform number by mistake? Did you have to do something to prove you were a wizard to find it? But Hagrid said you weren't allowed to do magic in front of Muggles, and everyone around was a –

"- packed with Muggles, of course- "

Harry whirled around so fast he almost knocked Hedwig's cage flying.

A woman, four boys, and a girl, all with flaming red hair, passed by, all talking at once. The noise was deafening, but Harry could pick "Hogwarts" and "Platform 9 ¾" out of the babble.

He paused. There were two choices: he could follow them and see where they went, or he could stay here and miss the train.

He followed them.

 **A/N: Yes, Draco and Harry's conversation is stilted; it was meant to be. Harry's not had much contact with girls, especially girls who happen to be witches, and Draco's a Slytherin even before she's sorted, so obviously she'll want to be on good terms with the great Harry Potter in case he becomes useful later, but she's also been taught all her life that everyone who's not a pureblood is inferior to her. So neither knows how to act around the other.**

 **I'm trying to focus on the things that happen differently than in canon, so if something isn't mentioned, it happened like it did in the books. So Harry still has Hedwig, and Hagrid still forgot to tell him how to get to Platform 9 ¾, but because Harry's conversation with Draco is more civil than in canon, his interactions with the Weasleys will be slightly different.**

 **Hope you've enjoyed the story so far! Next chapter, Harry meets Ron, and gives everyone a shock at the Sorting.**


	2. Chapter 2: A Shock for Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Never have, never will. Any lines from** _ **Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone**_ **are © J. K. Rowling.**

 **Chapter Two: A Shock for Hogwarts**

 _"Who are_ you _?" said the Caterpillar._

 _This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I-I hardly know, sir, just at present - at least, I know who I_ was _when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."_ **\- Lewis Carroll,** _ **Alice in Wonderland**_

"Excuse me…"

The red-haired woman and all five children turned round, and Harry was strongly reminded of all the times Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley had ganged up on him. Those were always the times when he got the worst beatings.

Fighting panic, he continued very fast, "Are you going to Hogwarts I heard you talkingIdon'tknowhowtogetontheplatform-"

"Oh, that's all right, dear, most people have difficulty finding it," the woman said kindly. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "All you have to do is – well, just watch. Percy, you go first."

The oldest boy, who had an amazing pompous air about him, nodded in a most dignified manner (which provoked sniggers from two of his brothers, obviously twins, who were so alike you'd think you were seeing double when you saw them), and set off at a run towards a brick wall. Harry opened his mouth to warn him about it, since he obviously hadn't seen it, but then he… vanished. One minute he was there, the next he wasn't.

What on earth just happened?

"Do we go through the wall?" Harry asked, hazarding a guess.

"Of course," said one of the twins. "Where-"

"-have you been," the other continued.

"-that you don't-"

"-know how to get-"

"-onto the platform?" they finished together.

"Be quiet, you two," their mother said, frowning at them.

They fell silent, grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats.

Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to run. What if the magic that let people through the wall didn't work for him? What if he crashed into it and broke his neck? What if – A joly of pain shot through his leg as he hit something square with sharp edges. He lost his grip on the trolley and fell with a yelp against something soft, something that yelled, tried to punch him, and pulled him down to the ground.

More than a little frightened (had he hit someone? Would he be arrested?), he opened his eyes and found himself lying on top of the red-haired boy who'd gone first. Behind them was an old-fashioned steam train, milling around were parents seeing their children onto the train, and overhead was a sign that said "Platform 9 ¾". The trolley with his suitcases and Hedwig's cage came to a halt just in front of the platform edge.

"Sorry," he said, blushing, as he scrambled to his feet.

The boy (what was his name? Percy?) looked extremely miffed, as if Harry had deliberately run into him, but if he meant to say anything he never got the chance. The twins appeared through the wall behind them, followed by the youngest boy, followed by the girl and their mother.

"Percy, why's your suitcase lying on the ground?" their mother asked. "Someone could trip over it. Ron, you've got a dirty mark on your nose."

Harry retrieved the trolley and made his escape before Percy told her what had happened. She'd been kind enough to tell him how to find the platform; what would she think if she heard he'd almost run down her son?

* * *

The train flew past rivers, forests, fields and houses without stopping or slowing down. Harry was engrossed in the description of a lethifold in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ when he heard someone cough to his left. It was the youngest red-haired boy.

"Do you mind if I sit in here?" he asked.

"Not at all," Harry replied.

The boy smiled happily and sat down on the seat opposite him. Harry couldn't help noticing that his robes were almost as worn as Harry's hand-me-downs.

"I'm Ron Weasley," the boy said. "And this is Scabbers." He held up a cage containing a grey rat that was either asleep or dead.

"Pleased to meet you," Harry said politely. "I'm Harry Potter, and this is Hedwig."

Ron's eyes widened until they were the size of dinner plates. " _You're_ Harry Potter?"

Harry shifted awkwardly and decided that from now on, he'd introduce himself as Harry Dursley. Anything would be better than people staring at him like he was an animal in a zoo.

"Do you remember anything about… you know, what happened?" Ron continued, oblivious to Harry's discomfort.

 _Should I mention the green light and the laughter?_ Harry thought.

"I was only a baby," he said at last. It wasn't a lie, and if it wasn't the full truth, well, he had a right to keep some things to himself, didn't he? "Have you been to Hogwarts before?"

Ron was apparently satisfied by this answer, and didn't object to the change of subject. "No, it's my first year. Wish I was older, though, 'cause then Ginny'd have started and Fred an' George would pick on her instead of me."

Harry thought this was a very strange reason to want to be older. "Is Ginny your sister?"

"Yeah, she's the youngest. Then it's me, then the twins, then Percy, then Charlie, then Bill."

Seven children? Harry remembered a film Aunt Petunia watched once, about a lonely goatherd and a cuckoo bird.

Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened and in stepped Draco, already in her school robes and not a hair out of place, flanked by two… cavemen? Giants? Those couldn't be _students_ , could they?

"Hello, Harry," she said, sitting down next to him without asking permission.

"Hi, Draco," he replied, not sure if he should object. What was the proper Wizarding etiquette for seating arrangements, anyway? Then he remembered Ron. "This is Ron Weasley. Ron, this is Draco Malfoy."

Ron wrinkled his nose and seemed to be on the verge of saying something extremely rude. Draco looked at his bright red hair, the smudge on his nose, his worn robes, the still-sleeping rat next to him, and sneered.

"Are you sure you should be associating with a _Weasley_?" she asked, making "Weasley" sound like a foul word second only to "Muggle".

"You're one to talk!" Ron shouted, losing his temper. "Dad says your family's as Dark as they come, and you've a crazy aunt in St. Mungo's who should be Kissed, and your dad belongs in Azkaban with the other Death Eating scum!"

Draco's face turned a shade of red almost as vivid as Ron's hair. The two rock-piles hadn't said a word and didn't appear to be intelligent enough to understand anything that was happening, but they knew enough to take their cue from her, and immediately turned and frowned menacingly at Ron.

Harry thought fast. He'd unwittingly stirred up a hornet's nest, and now he had to calm everyone down before things got violent.

"You haven't introduced your friends yet, Draco," he said hurriedly, latching onto the only subject he could think of.

Draco stopped glaring daggers at Ron and turned away from him as if he wasn't worth her notice and it was some other girl who'd almost gotten into a screaming match with him.

"This is Vincent Crabbe and that's Gregory Goyle." She gestured dismissively in the rock-piles' general direction. "They're not my friends; Father just wants them to keep an eye on me."

Oh. They were bodyguards. The idea of bodyguards for an eleven-year-old seemed rather odd, but maybe it was a Wizarding custom.

Ron burst out laughing. "What, Daddy dearest doesn't trust you to walk to breakfast without someone holding your hand?"

Harry cringed. Draco looked murderous. Bodyguards #1 and #2 stared at the carriage's other occupants with an air of incomprehension.

Draco drew her wand. Ron did likewise. Before either could hex the other into oblivion, the door opened again.

Harry hoped it wasn't a teacher come to kick them all out. It would be just his luck to be expelled from Hogwarts before he even started. But no, it was a boy and a girl. They were both in their robes, and the girl had very prominent front teeth and brown hair so bushy she looked like a rat had made a nest in it immediately after she received an electric shock. She started to talk the moment she opened the door, so Harry had no time to notice anything about the boy except that he was small and looked like he might burst into tears at any moment.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost his and we've looked everywhere – Oh, are you going to do magic? Let's see, then."

Like Draco before her, she waltzed in and sat down without waiting for an invitation. The boy stayed by the door.

Draco looked thunderstruck. Ron's lower jaw appeared to be making a spirited attempt to reach the floor. Crabbe and Goyle looked like they hadn't even noticed the additions to the carriage.

Draco recovered first. "Yes, show us that spell you mentioned, Weasley." To the girl, she added, "Weasley knows a spell to turn his rat yellow."

"Spell? Yellow?" Ron echoed. "Oh, yes, the spell…"

Harry crossed his fingers and hoped Ron didn't accidentally turn _them_ yellow instead of the rat.

Ron cleared his throat and waved his wand at Scabbers, still asleep in the cage. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"

Nothing happened.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" the girl asked, frowning. "All the spells I've heard sound like Latin and they don't rhyme. Of course, I haven't heard many spells, just what's mentioned in our textbooks; no one in my family's magical, and I only found out I was a witch when I got my letter. I'm Hermione Granger, who are you? I'm so looking forward to going to Hogwarts, aren't you? I know all my books off by heart already. The subjects all sound so interesting, but I'm a bit worried that it doesn't mention teaching us grammar or Maths or things like that. And flying sounds so dangerous-"

Throughout this speech, Ron, Harry and Draco stared at Hermione with the sort of fascinated horror usually reserved for watching a car crash or a natural disaster – appalled, but unable to look away.

"All _real_ witches know how to fly as soon as they know how to walk," Draco drawled, finally getting a word in edgewise. "But of course, you can't expect your kind to know anything useful."

Hermione stared at her. "What do you mean, my kind?"

"I mean Mud-"

"I dare you to finish," Ron interrupted, frowning ferociously.

Harry didn't know much about Draco or Wizarding insults, but he knew that Draco would finish that sentence just to spite Ron, and if Draco finished that sentence, the consequences would be dire.

"What's so dangerous about flying?" he asked Hermione. "I mean, the teachers are bound to have some way of making it safe, or it wouldn't be allowed."

"It's the principle of the thing," Hermione argued. "It's just not safe to fly around on bits of wood; imagine if you lost your grip! Or if the enchantments on the broom failed!" She was about to continue when she noticed the boy she'd arrived with. "Oh, Neville, I forgot all about you! No sign of your toad? Let's go and find him, then."

And just like that, as abruptly as she'd arrived, Hermione Granger swept out of the carriage, followed by Neville.

Dead silence reigned after her departure.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope it's not the same one as her," Ron said at last.

Harry had to agree. He was sure Hermione meant well, but she was so bossy, and she talked so much!

 _She'd probably make a good Ravenclaw,_ he decided.

Draco, still staring at the door as if she expected Hermione to return and deliver another monologue or two, began, "That's exactly why we shouldn't let…"

If there was one good thing Harry learned from living with the Dursleys for eleven years, it was how to tell when a situation was about to become dangerous. He could see from Ron's expression that if Draco finished this sentence, the consequences would be only marginally less dire than last time.

"Have people ever fallen off their brooms?" he asked.

The conversation immediately switched to the hazards or lack thereof inherent in riding brooms.

* * *

The boat-ride was slightly alarming, but the first sight of Hogwarts more than made up for that. The walk up to the doors was intimidating. Meeting Professor McGonagall and the ghosts was even more so. After all that, Harry expected the Sorting to involve demonstrating magic at best, and fighting a troll at worst.

So it was both a relief and disappointment to discover that there was nothing more to it than sitting on a chair and putting on a hat. A talking hat that could read your mind, but still.

Out of the first years Harry knew, even in passing (all six of them), Crabbe was Sorted first, into Slytherin. A while later, to no one's surprise, Hermione Granger went to Ravenclaw. Then Goyle went to Slytherin, and Neville, whose surname appeared to be Longbottom, went to Hufflepuff. Draco practically skipped up to the chair, and the hat scarcely touched her head before screaming, "SLYTHERIN!"

Ron snorted. "Can't expect anything else from that lot."

Harry was too busy worrying about what might happen when it was his turn to answer.

"Potter, Harry!" Professor McGonagall called.

The room went very quiet. All eyes were riveted on Harry as he slowly made his way to the chair and the waiting hat, his feelings of dread mounting with every step.

" _Hmm… What have we here?"_ the hat whispered when he put it on. " _Not studious enough to be a Ravenclaw, somehow I can't imagine you as a Hufflepuff… Which shall it be? Gryffindor or Slytherin?"_

He had a choice?

" _We always have a choice, young Potter. What will yours be?"_

Well, then… He didn't know much about any of the houses, but Draco said that Gryffindor was for people too stupid even for Hufflepuff, and he didn't particularly want to be in a house full of stupid people; he'd get enough of that during the holidays when he went back to the Dursleys. But then, it said in _Hogwarts: A History_ that a lot of Dark wizards were in Slytherin…

 _I don't know,_ he thought. _Just send me where I'll belong._

" _Well, in that case,_ SLYTHERIN!"

The Great Hall went very, very quiet.


	3. Chapter 3: A Shock for Snape

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's followed, favourited or reviewed. I really appreciate it**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **Chapter 3: A Shock for Snape**

 _Convictions are more dangerous foes of truth than lies._ _ **– Friedrich Nietzsche**_

Harry removed the hat and went over to the Slytherin table, wondering why the room was so quiet. It was as if the hat turned everyone to stone when it Sorted him. Almost mechanically, a boy Harry vaguely remembered being called "Nott, Theodore" moved slightly to the side to let him sit next to Draco.

Belatedly, the Slytherins realised what had happened and burst into wild cheers. Gryffindor table as one let out a groan of anguish, and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw clapped politely. Ron, still waiting to be Sorted, stared at Harry as if he'd seen him grow a second head and try to eat someone.

"Congratulations, Potter," said a girl sitting over the table from him who'd been called "Bulstrode, Millicent". "Everyone thought you'd be one of _them_ for sure." She jabbed her chin in the direction of the Gryffindors. "Good to know you're not past saving."

Harry mumbled something that might have been thanks. He was too busy trying to figure out what all the fuss was about to pay much attention to his new housemates.

Ron went to Gryffindor, and a black boy called "Zabini, Blaise" joined the new Slytherins. Then Professor McGonagall rolled up the list of names, picked up the Sorting Hat and carried it off somewhere. Harry spared a moment to wonder what they did with the Hat when it wasn't Sorting anyone – did the teachers take turns to wear it? That might explain why it looked so battered. Then Dumbledore stood up.

"Welcome to Hogwarts for those of you who are new, and welcome back for those who aren't. There are some rules you need to remember, and then the Feast will start. One, the Forbidden Forest is still forbidden."

Theodore snorted. "As if we couldn't figure that out for ourselves."

"Two, the third floor corridor is off-limits to everyone who doesn't want to die a painful death."

Harry laughed. Virtually no one else did.

"Is he serious?" he whispered to Draco as Dumbledore continued.

"Father says so. He's on the Board of Governors, you know."

Harry didn't know, but since he knew now, he didn't say so.

"And now, before you eat, I'd like to say a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

The majority of Slytherins looked like they'd like to say a few words that were _not_ "nitwit", "blubber", "oddment" or "tweak", but didn't dare when there was a chance the Headmaster would hear them.

Dumbledore sat down, and food appeared on the tables. Harry gasped and almost fell off his seat as a chicken and a bunch of grapes appeared in front of him. This wasn't all for the students, was it? He looked around. Apparently it was; his housemates were helping themselves to what was in front of them or asking someone further up or down the table to pass them something.

Seeing his amazement, Draco whispered, "Just help yourself, and try to show better table manners than a Weasley."

Harry looked over at Gryffindor table and winced. Ron and the twins were… well, inhaling was the best word to describe what they were doing with all the food in their vicinity. But then, Crabbe and Goyle were steadily munching their way through everything in front of them, whether it was on their plate or not, so he couldn't help feeling Draco was being a bit selective in her criticisms. At least no one was shoving the table over or throwing chairs around like Dudley used to.

He helped himself to a very small piece of chicken and an even smaller bit of potato. Theodore's eyebrows shot up.

"What's wrong, Potter, watching your weight? My grandmother eats more than that, and she hasn't even any teeth!"

"I'm not very hungry," Harry muttered, wishing the other boy would mind his own business.

Draco stopped delicately cutting up a piece of whatever it was she had on her plate and eyed him dubiously.

"You didn't bring any food with you on the train, Weasley had to practically force-feed you a chocolate frog, and you only ate half of the sandwich I gave you. That means you haven't had a proper meal since breakfast. It's humanly impossible that you can't be hungry now."

Harry squirmed. He _was_ hungry, but the Dursleys had often made him go without food for days at a time, and just eating at the same table as other people made him uncomfortable.

Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini began to take an interest in the conversation.

"You're awfully skinny, Potter," Millicent observed, sizing him up critically. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"You aren't even eating what's on your plate," Blaise said.

A prefect overhead him and glared at them. "Because you're not giving him a chance to eat, you idiots! Leave the boy alone."

Millicent, Theodore and Blaise went back to their meals. Draco looked at Harry as if he was a puzzle she'd dearly love to solve, but returned to the unidentified object on her plate. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

That was when an agonizing headache hit him with all the force of the Hogwarts Express.

"Ow!"

Everyone within hearing range stopped eating and looked at him inquiringly.

"Something wrong, firstie?" a Third Year asked.

"Just a headache," Harry mumbled, wishing they'd all leave him alone. Bad things always happened when he was the centre of attention.

* * *

Severus Snape was still reeling from the shock of Potter's Sorting, and hardly heard a word of Quirrell's babble. It wasn't enough that he had to endure the brat in class; the Sorting Hat decided to inflict him on poor, unsuspecting Slytherin House?

The only good thing about this situation was that James Potter was undoubtedly spinning in his grave.

He risked a glance over at his House's table, dreading what he might see. Oddly enough, no one was paying any attention to Potter, and unlike his father, he wasn't doing anything outrageous to draw attention to himself.

Strike that thought; Draco and the Nott boy were neglecting their meals to stare at him. And now Miss Bulstrode and Mr. Zabini were joining in.

 _Potter, so help me, if you're corrupting my first years you'll be pickled in twenty different jars before this night's out!_

Now the other four had gone back to their food, but it took a prefect's intervention before they did. That didn't bode well at all. He knew very little about Bulstrode's and Zabini's upbringings, but he thought Nott and Draco would have more intelligence than to be so interested in anything a troublemaker like Potter had to say.

 _If you corrupt my goddaughter, you'll be pickled in_ fifty _different jars and put on display in my office!_

What's this? The brat seemed to be in pain. Overeating, most likely. Maybe Severus should send him to Poppy after dinner. Anything was better than coping with yet another sick, whiny eleven-year-old. Wait, why was Draco staring at him?

"T-t-the H-h-headmaster suggested a t-t-troll, but t-t-that might be a bit t-t-too d-d-dangerous in a school, d-d-don't you t-t-think?" Quirrell stammered, oblivious to the fact his colleague wasn't even listening.

Seeing she had her godfather's attention, Draco tilted her head in Potter's direction and shrugged minutely. Severus frowned. He'd promised Lucius and Narcissa on threat of being forced to visit Bellatrix not to Legilimize their daughter, but right now he was tempted to break that promise. What was Draco trying to tell him? Had Potter started a fight? Lost his grip on his knife and cut his finger? In either case, why weren't the prefects doing something about it?

Draco realised he couldn't understand her and mouthed "Tell – you – later."

* * *

Harry stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at his surroundings as the Slytherins traipsed down to the dungeons. The portraits called greetings to them, the staircases overhead rearranged themselves with no regard for whether or not anyone was on them, the suits of armour seemed to walk around when no one was looking, and occasionally a ghost floated past.

"Stop staring," Draco said in an undertone. "You might as well stand at the top of the Astronomy Tower and yell "I was raised by Muggles" to the entire castle."

"Sorry," Harry said, dropping his eyes to the stone floor and not daring to lift them for the rest of the walk to the common room.

The moment they stepped through the portrait into the common room, a Seventh Year boy who looked like he had a large rock somewhere in his not-too-distant ancestry started issuing orders.

"Right, firsties, girls' dorms are through there," he pointed to a passage leading out of the room, "and boys' dorms are over there. If you need any help, find a prefect or Professor Snape. The rules are on the board over there. Any questions?" No one moved. "Good."

For the first time, it dawned on Harry that the moment he went to his dormitory and Draco went to hers, he'd be alone with complete strangers. He froze. Dudley wasn't here to tell everyone how he was a freak and a liar, but Hagrid said there were some people who'd hate him because of Vol – You-Know-Who. What if they didn't want him to sleep in the same dormitory as them?

Well, if he could find a cupboard somewhere…

"Come on, Potter, or do you want to spend the night out here?" Nott's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

* * *

The moment Draco arrived in her dormitory, she summoned a house-elf to unpack her suitcases and set off in search of her godfather. She wasn't stupid; she knew there was something strange about Harry Potter, and the only people she could think of who might be able to find out what were Aunt Bella and Professor Snape. There were certain logistic difficulties in asking Aunt Bella, since she was still in St. Mungo's and would likely try to Crucio Harry into talking, with or without a wand, so Professor Snape it was.

She climbed out through the portrait, turned down the corridor leading to the Potions classroom, and almost immediately crashed headlong into the professor.

"You do realise it's dangerous close to curfew?" Snape asked dryly. "Your mother would be most displeased if you got detention on your first day."

Draco remembered the last time her mother was most displeased with her. It was the time she visited Aunt Bella on her ninth birthday and her accidental magic struck in the middle of teatime, so an unfortunate waiter ended up with bright scarlet hair and a teacup for a nose. Her godmother thought it was hilarious. Her father thought it was somewhat inconvenient, but it also declared to the world that his daughter was not a squib.

Her mother gave her a very calm, very detailed explanation of why she should have better control over her magic at such an advanced age than to make a public spectacle of herself. Compared to the shouting matches that ensued when Lucius lost his temper, Narcissa's "little talk" was mild. It didn't change the fact that Draco had been reduced to tears by the end.

"Sorry," Draco said, only partly sincere. "But since I'm with a teacher, I can't be accused of being out after curfew unsupervised. I have to talk to you about Ha – Potter, I mean. There's something odd about him. He was raised by _Muggles_ , which might explain some of it, but – He ate less than half a sandwich and a chocolate frog on the train, and at dinner he ate almost nothing and claimed he wasn't hungry!"

Snape blinked. "Are you sure he didn't gorge himself on some hidden stash of food?"

"I'm sure; I was in the carriage with him the whole journey." Realising how this sounded, she added, "Crabbe, Goyle and a Weasley were with us, and Longbottom and a Mud-ggleborn stopped by once. And that's not all; I met him in Flourish and Blotts while I was getting my school supplies, and he didn't even know what the Houses are! He said he was raised by _Muggles_ ," she couldn't keep the distaste out of her voice, "but they should have told him something about us!"

"I'll look into Mr. Potter's strange behaviour; I'm sure there's an excellent reason for it," Snape said. "Now, I must insist you return to your dormitory, and if you leave it before morning, your punishment will be talked of with horror twenty years from now."

* * *

Two o'clock AM was never a very lively hour, not even in Hogwarts. There wasn't a sound from any of the students, not even the always-rowdy Gryffindors, and all the Professors were fast asleep.

Well, all the Professors _had_ been fast asleep until a minute ago.

Severus Snape drifted out of an uneasy sleep with a vague idea that someone was firing a machine gun in his office. No, that wasn't a machine gun; it was someone knocking at the door.

He got up and pulled on a dressing-gown, thinking darkly that unless someone was in their death throes, whoever disturbed him at this hour would be extremely sorry.

He opened the door. It wasn't one of his colleagues come to warn him of an emergency. It wasn't a prefect come to ask for help dealing with a particularly homesick first year. It was Blaise Zabini, in his pyjamas and without slippers, shivering but trying to hide it.

"Sir something's wrong with Potter he's having a nightmare but he put up a Silencing Spell and then he fell out of bed but he hasn't woken up and he's _hissing_ -" Zabini stopped for breath.

Snape ground his teeth. So, Potter decided to make a scene and disturb his roommates before he'd even been at Hogwarts twelve hours, did he?

Wait, what did Zabini mean by "hissing"?


	4. Chapter 4: Truths We'd Rather Not Know

**A/N: Something's wrong… when I post a chapter, the scene breaks disappear. Does anyone know how to avoid this?**

 **Thanks to the reviewers, followers and favouriters (is that even a word? Oh well).**

 **Chapter 4: Truths We'd Rather Not Know**

 _At last the secret is out, as it always must come in the end… -_ _ **W. H. Auden, At Last the Secret Is Out**_

Severus stormed into the first years' dormitory, Zabini trailing behind. Nott was leaning against Potter's bed with blood trickling from his nose, looking simultaneously half-asleep and terrified out of his wits. Going by the snores issuing from their respective beds, Crabbe and Goyle were still sleeping like logs. And Potter…

Potter lay on the ground next to his bed, whimpering and occasionally lashing out at an unseen enemy. The sounds coming from his mouth sent chills down Severus's spine. He'd heard those sounds before, when the Dark Lord gave orders to Nagini.

There had to be a logical explanation for this. Maybe the Dark Lord had spoken Parseltongue when he went to kill the Potters, and the boy retained that memory subconsciously… Severus knew he was grasping at straws, but it simply wasn't possible that Potter was a Parselmouth. It wasn't. It couldn't be.

One thing was for sure; the moment Potter was awake and not making that infernal sound, _someone_ had a lot of explaining to do.

Severus knelt down on the stone floor next to the boy and considered his options. He could try to shake him awake, which was probably how Nott ended up with a nosebleed, or he could use Aguamenti. That was the safest option, and if Potter objected to being drenched, too bad.

* * *

The figure with red eyes reached out, sending a jet of icy water straight at him. Harry screamed as the dream faded and he found himself on the floor in his dormitory, in a pool of cold water, his throat raw from screaming.

He blinked, trying to ascertain whether this was real or not. It certainly felt real.

"Is he all right?" Zabini's voice asked nervously.

"I don't know yet. Mr. Potter, get up. Mr. Nott, what happened to your nose?"

Harry scrambled to his feet, almost slipping in the water. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest as the coldness of the dungeon air made itself known. Zabini stood to his left, staring at him blankly. Nott sat on the edge of Harry's bed, which Harry thought was a liberty taken somewhere, and the teacher Draco had referred to at dinner as "Professor Snape" held his wand in front of his face.

"You'll be fine," Snape told Nott. "Now go back to bed. You too, Zabini. Potter…" He muttered something and Harry's clothes were suddenly dry. "Come with me."

Too scared to do anything but obey, Harry followed the professor out of the dormitory, through the common room, out into the hall, and up several flights of stairs. He hardly noticed any of his surroundings.

 _You're so stupid,_ a little voice in his head whispered. _You finally go to Hogwarts and you mess everything up on your very first night! I wouldn't be surprised if they sent you back to the Dursleys. What else do freaks deserve?_

Panic gripped Harry and before he knew what he was doing, he'd raced forward to stand in front of a very surprised Snape, blocking the man's way.

"Please don't send me back I didn't mean it I'll be good I'll do anything you want just please please don't make me go back there!" he begged.

The professor frowned. "You don't want to go back to the dormitory?"

"No, the Dursleys," Harry corrected without thinking, then cringed. His relatives never liked it when he did that. When he was five, Dudley exploited this by making a series of increasingly inane statements (or else he really did think the sun was black; it was hard to tell with him) in the hopes Harry would correct him.

"I see," Snape said, looking at him as if he'd just shaken the world's foundations. "You aren't going back to them."

Harry let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

Severus couldn't understand the boy. He was James Potter's brat; it stood to reason he had to be arrogant, immature, a bully… everything his wretched father had been. But from the moment he woke up, he'd been quiet, obedient, and his only concern was that he'd be sent back to the Dursleys, whoever they were. This combined with Draco's report produced an odd sense that Severus's convictions were wrong somewhere.

And then, of course, was the hippogriff in the room, otherwise known as Potter's Parseltongue abilities.

There was a mystery about Harry James Potter, and Severus hated mysteries.

Despite the outrageously early hour, Dumbledore was waiting for them in his office, his eyes not quite as twinkly as they normally were.

"I trust there's a good explanation for this, Severus?"

Unspoken was the implication that if there wasn't, he'd be subjected to Disappointed Looks (yes, those looks deserved capitalization) and speeches that would give Aesop's fables a run for their money.

"Potter had a nightmare. One of his roommates alerted me, and I arrived to find him still asleep and speaking Parseltongue."

In that moment, Severus did the impossible: he shocked Albus Dumbledore.

" _What_? But – he – you – Are you sure?"

Severus nodded grimly.

Albus stared at him, then at the cause of all this disturbance. Potter squirmed and shot a furtive glance over his shoulder towards the door. Guessing his thoughts, Severus clapped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him forward before he could try to escape.

By now, Albus had recovered from his shock and gave Potter one of his best kindly-grandfather smiles.

"Sit down, please, Harry. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

Severus felt like hurling those infernal sweets into the depths of the Black Lake. No, that wouldn't be a good idea; the giant squid might eat them. A giant squid on a sugar high was the last thing anyone needed.

Potter eyed the headmaster mistrustfully as he perched himself on the very edge of a seat. How odd; he acted like he expected to be punished for doing what he was told to.

"No, thank you, sir," the boy said quietly, staring at the floor.

Hmm. Had Draco told him Dumbledore was a Legilimens? Or was there something else going on here?

"Now, Harry," Albus continued, "would you care to tell us what your nightmare was about?"

Potter shifted awkwardly and his eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at the two professors. Severus's suspicions began to take a horrifying shape. Fear of adults, fear of being sent home, expecting to be punished for obeying, eating as little as possible… Those were all symptoms he'd seen often enough, first in himself as a child and later in those of his students from abusive homes.

"I'm sorry!" Potter blurted out, shrinking back into his chair and pulling his knees up to his chest. "I didn't mean it!"

Albus frowned. "Why are you apologising, Harry?"

"For waking everyone. I didn't mean to, sir. I'll be ever so good, just please don't send me back!"

"Don't worry, no one's sending you anywhere." Harry – no, _Potter_ – didn't look convinced. "Now, why don't you tell us about your nightmare?"

Potter wrapped his arms around his knees so tightly it looked like he was trying to strangle them. "It was just a stupid nightmare," he mumbled. "There was a hat, an' Quirrell's turban-"

" _Professor_ Quirrell's turban," Severus correct automatically.

"And Professor Quirrell's turban, an' someone was laughing and there was a snake and a horse and a person in black."

Albus stiffened. "Would you describe this person in black for us?"

"I don't know." Potter ducked his head as if expecting to be punched for daring to not know something. "I couldn't see clearly."

* * *

Harry wished they'd just leave him alone. He'd apologised for waking them; why did they want to know about his nightmare? Were they going to have him put in a place for crazy people? And what was that parcel-thingy Snape said he'd spoken?

"Do you have this sort of nightmare often?" the headmaster asked. He sounded so nice and concerned but Harry knew better. Adults never cared about him, and the teachers at his first school warned all the children about people who offered them sweets.

"No, sir." Actually, the only nightmares Harry could remember ever having were about the night his parents died, and once when he was very young he'd dreamt of a boy with red eyes in a strange brick building. This one was different, but… "The laughter's the same," he realised suddenly.

Dumbledore and Snape stared at him.

"The same as what?" Snape asked sharply.

Harry cringed, expecting a beating for speaking out of line. Nothing happened, so he worked up the courage to continue. "The same as with the green light."

Snape looked like he wanted to ask a few more questions, but Dumbledore beat him to it. "Thank you, my boy. Now, since it's very late, would you like to go back to bed? We'll talk more tomorrow."

Harry hesitated. He was very tired, but he didn't like the idea of talking about this tomorrow, or any other time for that matter.

"Go back to bed, Potter," Snape ordered, looking annoyed.

Harry went.

* * *

The moment the door closed behind Potter, Albus seemed to age a hundred years.

"That was no nightmare," he said wearily, resting his head in his hands. "Well, I imagine some of it – the hat and the turban – were an ordinary dream, but Voldemort is here, and he somehow told young Harry of his actions. The question is, why? Is it intentional or accidental?"

Severus stared at him. Had the old coot finally snapped? "Does it matter? The Dark Lord is able to reach a student's mind. How is he doing it and _how do we stop it_?"

"I suspect Harry's scar is how. There have never been any scars like it, so there is no way of knowing what effects it might have." Unconsciously, Albus slipped into the tone he used when he was keeping something back 'for the greater good'.

"And what of Potter speaking Parseltongue? Is that another effect of the scar?"

"Perhaps he was unwittingly relaying what Voldemort said," Albus suggested, oblivious to Severus wincing at the sound of that hated name.

"Hmm. Where has Potter been living for the past ten years?"

Albus looked surprised at the sudden change of subject. "With his mother's sister, her husband and their son, of course."

"With Petunia?" Severus caught himself before he added a few adjectives describing his opinion of Lily's sister eloquently. "She hates magic! What in Merlin's name made you think placing the boy in her, ahem, tender loving care?" Tender loving care, indeed. If Petunia was even half as bad as an adult as she had been as a child, Potter would have got more tender loving care from a nundu.

"Because they're his relatives, and family is very important."

That answer was so vague it scarcely deserved the title of "answer" instead of "pointless, uninformative remark". But one thing was for sure; the first opportunity Severus got, he was paying Petunia and her husband (how did _she_ ever get a husband? That had to be one of the world's greatest mysteries) a visit to find out just how they treated Potter.

* * *

Draco waited impatiently in the common room for Harry to emerge from his dorm. He appeared at last, his hair more of a mess than usual and his robes inside out. She raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with you? You look like you haven't slept at all."

Harry rubbed at his eyes without moving his glasses out of the way. "I had a nightmare."

Draco's sharp eyes noted how he avoided looking at her when he said this, and she deduced there was more to it than that. The breakfast bell rang, preventing her from inquiring further, but she resolved to find out exactly what the mystery around him was.

"Hello, Ron!" Harry called, seeing the youngest Weasley (well, the youngest Weasley currently at Hogwarts; Draco seemed to remember hearing there was at least one more).

Weasley turned as red as his hair and scurried into the Great Hall as if a battalion of spiders were chasing him. Harry stared after him.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked.

Draco sighed. "Gryffindors hate Slytherins. More importantly, Weasleys hate Slytherins."

"But he was so nice on the train!"

"Because you weren't a Slytherin then." Seeing how depressed he looked, she added, "He's probably just afraid his parents won't approve of him associating with a Slytherin. In a few months-" _He'll have faded into insignificance_ "-he'll be fine."

It was quite alarming how quickly Harry brightened up when he heard that.

* * *

From the outside, Number Four, Privet Drive was clean, tidy, normal, and utterly unremarkable in every way. Severus hated it from the moment he set eyes on it. He gritted his teeth and walked up to the front door. If Petunia was anything like she had been, she'd slam the door in his face, so he didn't bother knocking.

"Alohomora," he whispered, and the door swung open.

The inside of the house was as unremarkable as the outside. The only real difference was the amount of photographs and broken toys scattered about. All the photos were of a woman who even after twenty years was still recognisable as Petunia Evans, a man who resembled a walrus, and… that couldn't be a _child_ , could it?

There was no sign Potter lived there at all.

Humming tunelessly to herself, Petunia wandered out of the kitchen, flicking through a magazine filled with pictures of obnoxiously colourful home interiors. She shrieked when she saw Severus.

"Get out! We don't want any of your freakishness around here! You've got the brat, what -" She paused, realising for the first time who it was she was yelling at. " _You_! You're that awful boy she went off to that freaky school with!"

"Nice of you to remember me," Severus remarked dryly. "I'm here to investigate Potter's home-life and whether or not it is suitable for him to return to." That wasn't strictly true, but if his suspicions were confirmed, he would ensure Potter would never come back here. "Where is your husband?"

"He's at work," Petunia growled. She probably thought the glare she was giving him was menacing. He thought it looked as if she was about to be sick. "We gave that wretched boy a roof over his head and we tried to keep his freakishness from corrupting Dudley, and look how he repaid us – by setting dangerous animals on our darling boy and bringing those owls down on us! And he expects to be allowed back?"

Well, that saved him asking how Potter was treated.

* * *

Harry stared up at the gargoyle statue. He knew from last night that it hid the staircase leading to the Headmaster's office, but he didn't know how to make it move.

"Password?" it asked.

"I don't know the password," he admitted. "But the Headmaster told me to come and see him."

"Can't let you in without the password."

Harry bit his lip. If he was the Headmaster, what password would he choose?

"Ah, Harry, there you are!" The Headmaster beamed at him, eyes twinkling merrily. "Lemon drop."

Harry opened his mouth to say "No, thank you", but the gargoyle leapt to life and he realised that must have been the password.

"Now, Harry, did you know you were talking in your sleep last night?" Dumbledore went right to the point.

"No, sir. I'm sorry I disturbed everyone. It won't happen again, sir," Harry said quickly, wanting to leave as quickly as possible.

An odd, almost worried look crossed the headmaster's face and was gone in a flash. "No one blames you, my boy. You were talking in your sleep, but you were speaking Parseltongue, not English."

Harry blinked. "What's Parcel-tongue?" It sounded like something to do with post offices.

"Parseltongue is the language of snakes. Very few wizards can speak it."

Harry remembered the snake he accidentally released. "You mean not everyone can talk to snakes?"

"No, Harry, it's a very rare ability."

He continued talking, but Harry didn't hear a word of it.

The Dursleys were right. He was a freak. Even wizards thought so. He was going to be kicked out of Hogwarts; that was why the Headmaster wanted to see him.

He had to get out of here or they'd send him back to the Dursleys.

With no plan other than "get out quickly", he leapt to his feet and raced out of the office.


	5. Chapter 5: Centre of Attention

**A/N: Thanks to the reviewer who told me about how to add scene breaks** **:)**

 **Yes, the class schedules are different than in canon. That was intentional, because Harry's a Slytherin here and obviously Slytherin has a different schedule to Gryffindor.**

 **From here on, this story will become more and more AU, and frankly I don't know how it'll end. Please review and tell me what you think.**

 **Chapter 5: In Which Harry is the Centre of Attention**

 _Things are not as bad as they seem. They are worse._ _ **– Bill Press**_

Severus stalked down the hall to Dumbledore's office, thinking things not lawful to be uttered about Petunia Evans-Dursley and her atrocious family. The only reason any of them were still alive was because he didn't think Albus would be pleased if he had to bail his Potions teacher out of Azkaban.

"Lemon drops," he snapped at the gargoyle, adding a few imprecations directed at Albus's atrocious passwords.

He had scarcely stepped off the stairs when the door to Albus's office flew open and a short, skinny eleven-year-old barrelled into him at speed that would put a racehorse to shame.

That was why Albus, when he emerged at a more sedate pace from the office, found the Boy-Who-Lived sitting on top of an ex-Death Eater.

"Get _off_!" Severus yelled, dazed, embarrassed and still unaware of the student's identity.

Potter (it _would_ be Potter, of course; his father must be watching this and doing a victory dance) leapt back as if he'd been slapped, cowering into a corner and muttering something over and over.

Severus sat up and glared at Albus. "What were you thinking, letting him run out like that-"

He trailed off when he realised the headmaster wasn't even looking at him. His whole attention was on Potter, who was curled up into a ball, repeating, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…"

Severus groaned silently. He could feel a headache coming on.

"What happened?" he demanded, keeping his voice down in case Potter panicked and tried to run off somewhere.

Never in all their years of acquaintance had he seen Albus look so bewildered. "I was explaining Parseltongue to him and when I asked if he had ever spoken to snakes before, he jumped up and ran out."

"I imagine this has something to do with the Dursleys."

Albus gave him a sharp glance. "Dare I ask why you say that?"

Severus longed to tell him exactly what the Dursleys were like, but now, while Potter was a hair's breadth from a nervous breakdown, was not the time.

"Potter, stop that racket," he ordered in his "do-as-I-say-or-Merlin-help-you" voice. His own childhood and years of experience dealing with abused children taught him that speaking softly to one would have no effect. "Why are you apologising?"

The boy flinched at the sound of his voice, then relaxed minutely when nothing happened.

"I'm sorry, I'll never do it again just _please_ don't send me back!"

What on Earth had he done?

"Stop whining! No one's sending you anywhere." Except to class or the Hospital Wing, but that was beside the point. "Why do you expect to be sent back?"

"'Cause I'm a freak." The matter-of-fact way Potter said it confirmed what he'd seen when he Legilimised Petunia.

Severus knelt down on the floor next to the boy, ignoring Albus's amazed exclamation. "What makes you think you're a freak?"

"'Cause I do freaky things."

On second thoughts, maybe he wouldn't tell Albus about the Dursleys yet. It would give him a chance to deal with them in his own way. Maybe he should break Bella out of St. Mungo's and tell her he knew where Harry Potter's relatives lived… No, Draco wouldn't take kindly to her godmother being sent to Azkaban, no matter how richly she deserved it. Maybe he could free Bella's mongrel cousin instead.

"So because you can Vanish glass and regrow your hair-" He'd seen memories of those incidents in Petunia's mind "-you think you're a freak? Hasn't it dawned on you yet that you're in a school of witchcraft and wizardry?"

"But I'm even freakier than the others."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Are you calling me a freak?" _If you are, I'll research potions requiring defeaters of Dark Lords and Hogwarts find itself minus one student the moment I gather all the ingredients._

"No, sir!" Potter sounded absolutely terrified.

 _As he should be,_ Severus thought with a hint of satisfaction, which vanished when he remembered why Potter was terrified.

"But, Harry," Albus began in his most placating tone, "what makes you think you're a freak?"

His filthy relatives who make most Death Eaters look like toddlers throwing tantrums, his Crabbe-and-Goyle-esque cousin, his school mates… The list of people who'd abused or neglected this boy was shockingly long, and Severus was ashamed to admit he himself, Albus, and Minerva were all near the top of it.

"You said I was, sir," Potter said, oblivious to the shock this pronouncement elicited. "'Cause I can speak to snakes."

Light began to dawn.

Albus looked mournful. "My dear boy, I'm afraid I gave the wrong impression. Parseltongue is extremely rare, true, but it is a gift, not a sign of… freakishness. No one is going to send you back to your relatives."

It was doubtful if Potter believed him about the Parseltongue, but he calmed down at the confirmation he wasn't going back.

"C'n I go back to my dorm now?" he asked shyly, in a tone that said plainly he expected his request to be refused.

"You can go to your dorm later, but now you'd better go to class," Albus said, in his most grandfatherly tone. "Transfiguration is first. You've missed about fifteen minutes of class, but I told Professor McGonagall that you were with me so you won't be in any trouble."

Potter didn't wait to be told twice. He fled down the stairs as if the Dark Lord himself were after him.

* * *

Draco expected Transfiguration to be easy. That was before she found out Harry was seeing the headmaster about something, and her partner for the class would be Pansy Parkinson.

The Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Parkinson chanted the incantation, waving her wand around wildly and nearly poking Draco's eye out.

Draco shut her eyes and counted to ten. Then she repeated the exercise in French, German and Latin.

"You're doing it wrong!" an extremely bossy (and only too familiar) voice exclaimed.

Draco opened her eyes and stifled a groan. Slytherin had Transfiguration with Ravenclaw, and that meant Hermione Granger inflicting herself on her unsuspecting classmates. Even the Ravenclaws weren't eager to associate with her; she was the only one who didn't have a partner yet.

Parkinson looked affronted. "How dare you insult me, you uppity little Mudblood?"

Granger blinked. Clearly, she didn't know what that word meant. But Parkinson forgot something in her anger, something with very sharp ears, something that knew what that word meant, something that went by the name of "Professor McGonagall".

"Miss Parkinson! Twenty points from Slytherin and detention with Mr. Filch!" McGonagall barked.

Parkinson gawked at her. "But Professor-"

"Do you want to lose another twenty points?"

The door flew open and Harry ran in. "Sorry I'm late, Professor, but I was with the Headmaster and-"

"I know, Mr. Potter, the Headmaster told me," McGonagall interrupted. "You can be Miss Granger's partner. Miss Granger, please explain the lesson to Mr. Potter. Now, Miss Parkinson…"

Harry took the seat next to Granger, who promptly forgot about her quarrel with Parkinson and began explaining the basics of matchstick-to-needle transfiguration. McGonagall gave Parkinson a thorough tongue-lashing and deducted another ten points for talking back to a teacher. Draco couldn't find it within herself to defend her housemate; if the idiot used words like that in front of the Head of Gryffindor, she acted in an utterly un-Slytherin manner and deserved what she got.

Pansy was still seething when the class ended, her fury compounded by the fact that Draco's and Harry's matchsticks had each turned silver and Granger's had become a fully-fledged needle, but her own was still undeniably a matchstick. She accosted Granger in the corridor as they left the classroom.

"You _cheated_ , you little-"

Harry jumped to the Ravenclaw's defence in a startlingly Gryffindorish way.

"Leave her alone, you bully!"

Parkinson sniffed. "Defending your girlfriend, Potter?"

Harry went as red as a Weasley's hair, but held his tongue. Parkinson decided her hurt pride wasn't worth starting a fight and stalked off to the Great Hall.

"Thank you, Harry," Granger said, smiling at him in a way that incensed Draco for no immediately discernable reason. Harry was _her_ friend; what right had that little Muggleborn twit to smile at him like that?

"Come on, Potter, we'll be late for dinner," said Draco with unnecessary sharpness, ignoring the puzzled look he gave her.

* * *

Whatever reaction Severus had expected from Albus when he found out just how the Dursleys treated his Golden Boy, this wasn't it. He'd expected anger, or disbelief, but the Headmaster simply sighed, looking extremely odd and weary.

"I suspected they might object to being asked to raise a magical child, but I never thought they would do this," he said sombrely.

"Never mind what you thought; what are we going to do now? I recommend having Poppy examine Potter for any lasting physical damage, and we may need to call St. Mungo's, but before this day's finished I will see Vernon and Petunia Dursley in custody, if I have to drag them to Auror headquarters and lock them in a cell myself!"

Albus stared at him. "Have the Dursleys arrested? Certainly not. Harry must return to them over the holidays."

Severus gawked in a most undignified manner. "Return to them? They kept him in a cupboard under their stairs, starved him, made him cook, clean, tend the garden, and beat him if he didn't do his tasks to their satisfaction, and you want him to _return to them_?" _It's official: Dumbledore has cracked._

"Harry must have a home, and the blood wards make the Dursleys' the safest place for him."

"The blood wards might keep him safe from Death Eaters, but they don't protect him from the Dursleys themselves. Harry Potter is not returning to that house."

With that, Severus stormed out.

Only too frequently in the past, they'd had similar conversations about a student from an abusive home, and almost every time Albus accepted that sending the student back to that home was unthinkable. The only times another solution was found was if the student in question was from a Death Eater family. There was absolutely no way to justify sending Potter back to those… there were no words foul enough to describe them.

Whatever his reasons, Dumbledore obviously intended to do just that, and Severus knew he couldn't stand up to the Headmaster by himself.

He summoned a house-elf and told it to bring dinner to his quarters, then sat down and began to write a letter. Poppy, Pomona and perhaps Filius and Minerva would be helpful, but he would need outside help as well.

The letter was short and to the point.

 _Lupin,_

 _I enjoy writing to you as much as you enjoy hearing from me, but I have news for you. James and Lily's son Harry has just started Hogwarts, and it has been discovered that Albus placed him with Lily's sister and her husband. They and their son abused him, forced him to work as an unpaid servant, made him sleep in a cupboard under the stairs, and deprived him of food, yet Albus thinks he should continue to live with them. For Harry's sake, please come as quickly as possible and help talk some sense into Albus._

 _S. Snape_

He sealed the letter and set off for the Owlery.

* * *

Arthur was still at work, Ginny was in her room, and Molly was washing the dishes when the Floo roared to life.

"Arthur? Molly? Are you there?" Snape's voice called through.

Molly stifled a groan. The only reason a professor – especially _this_ professor – would call them was because the twins had caused havoc yet again. And they hadn't even been at Hogwarts a full day!

"What have they done this time?" she demanded.

"Surprisingly, I'm not calling about the twins." Molly's eyebrows rose. "It's about Harry Potter."

Molly Weasley was often angry, but rarely downright furious. This was one of the times she was furious. As Snape filled her in on the details of young Harry's home life, she felt she could have hurled a few Unforgiveables at Petunia and Vernon Dursley if they'd been within easy reach.

"…and Albus wants to send him back during the holidays," Snape finished.

Volcano Molly erupted.

"WHAT?" she bellowed, so loudly that the windows rattled and Ginny, who was drawing a picture of herself and Harry surrounded by little hearts, nearly jumped out of her skin. "SEND HIM BACK? OVER MY DEAD BODY!"

* * *

Harry, unaware of what the next few hours would bring, sat down next to Draco at Slytherin table. Immediately, Theodore and Blaise piled vegetables, potatoes, and a slice of beef onto his plate, topping it off with a generous helping of gravy.

Harry gaped. "What-"

"You're too skinny, Potter," Theodore said. "It's making Slytherin look bad, so we're taking action."

"Eat everything on your plate, or I'll tell Madam Pomfrey you need a nutrient potion," Blaise added.

Harry looked from them, to his plate, then back to them. "Everything?" He'd never gotten a meal like this at the Dursleys', and he couldn't help think there must be some mistake.

Theodore nodded solemnly. "Or I'll ask a house-elf to spoon-feed it to you."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what a house-elf was, but the threat of anyone spoon-feeding him was enough to make him tuck into the meal his housemates insisted he eat. Draco, who watched this exchange out of the corner of her eye, nodded approvingly at him.

 _I wonder if this is what it's like to have friends._


	6. Chapter 6: Operation: Save Potter

**A/N: Thank you to all the readers, and especially those who took the time to review! Just to make this clear, there will be no romance at this point in the story. Harry, Draco and co. are eleven; they're far too young for romance. If it continues until they're fifteen or sixteen, maybe, but that's highly unlikely.**

 **Since my updating schedule has been irregular, from now on I'm going to try to update each Tuesday, and feel free to bombard me with Howlers (or angry reviews) if I miss it :)**

 **Chapter 6: Operation: Save Potter From the Muggles**

 _Any man can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error._ _ **\- Marcus Tullius Cicero**_

If you asked Ron Weasley how he liked Hogwarts, he'd have shrugged and said, "It's okay." He liked the castle, his housemates, and most importantly the food, and he was more or less indifferent to the teachers (except Snape, who he'd never spoken to but was sure he'd hate from the twins' reports). The only thing he hated about it was Slytherin House.

And now Harry Potter was a Slytherin.

He couldn't understand it; the other boy had seemed so _nice_ , so what was he doing in that snake-pit? So, he did the only thing he could think of: he sent an owl off to his parents. At dinner on his second day, he got a response.

 _Ronnie dearest,_ it read in his mother's handwriting,

 _Please don't shun young Harry because of his Sorting. He has had a very hard life_ (were those tear marks staining the parchment?) _and he desperately needs friends. Try to befriend him if you can._

 _Oh, and if I hear one word about you causing trouble or breaking any rules, you'll be right back home and over my knee before you know it._

Ron hardly noticed the threat, he was so confused by the first part of the letter. Harry had a hard life? He desperately needed friends? Mum wanted him to befriend a Slytherin?

He folded up the letter thoughtfully.

* * *

As Severus ate the dinner the house-elf brought him, he considered his next move in Operation: Save Potter From the Muggles. He'd never expected the day would come when he lifted a finger to help his hated enemy's brat, but then, he'd never expected Potter to live in such atrocious conditions. He had to rearrange his perceptions to suit the facts, never an easy thing to do.

The boy would not return to the Dursleys, no matter what Dumbledore said, which left the question of who he would live with.

Petunia was Lily's only living relative, and James was an only child and his parents had been getting on in years when he was born. Because of this, the closest relatives Potter had were the Blacks, of whom only Andromeda (living somewhere in the Muggle world) and Narcissa (ruled out for obvious reasons) were alive and free. Andromeda would be ideal, but she'd been disowned and the moment Narcissa found out her "blood traitor" sister was looking after the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Give-Him-Headaches, she'd use that to claim Andromeda had no right to Harry.

The Weasleys were the next choice, but for them children were plentiful and money was scarce. He didn't doubt Molly and Arthur would be delighted to take Harry, but foisting him off on a family that could only just afford to feed and clothe their own children wasn't much of an improvement.

Perhaps a teacher would be better… Minerva would be strict with any other child, but she was a Gryffindor and would see James instead of Harry (it never occurred to Severus that this was just what he'd done). Pomona was unthinkable, because she would coddle the boy and give in to his every wish. Filius would be best, since he would be neither too strict nor too indulgent, but he was a Ravenclaw, and Ravenclaws had an annoying tendency to be swayed by logical arguments. If Harry was anything like his father or his mother, he'd come up with logical-sounding arguments for having a picnic on the moon if he felt like it.

No, it would have to be a Slytherin. That raised problems too, since the only Slytherin teachers in Hogwarts were Snape himself and Aurora Sinistra, who lived in a small cottage in Hogsmeade with no room for more than one person.

This required careful consideration.

* * *

There were very few employment offers for werewolves in the Wizarding world, and even fewer of them were legitimate, so Remus had retired to the Muggle world in search of a job. He hadn't completely cut his ties to the world he left, primarily because it was the only way he could get Wolfsbane, but he had no friends left and certainly no one who would owl him.

Yet the fact remained that an owl was sitting on his table, a letter tied to its leg.

Remus untied the letter and gave the owl a piece of bacon. The writing was vaguely familiar, like a date you remembered but couldn't remember the significance of, and the seal indicated it was from Hogwarts. Why would anyone in Hogwarts be owling him?

Harry started this year, didn't he? Maybe someone was telling him about how his unofficial godson was settling in.

He opened the letter and read it. Then he read it again. Then he stumbled over to the cabinet where he kept the firewhiskey, poured himself a glass, drank it in one go, and reread the letter.

Albus put Harry with Muggles? _Those_ Muggles? They abused him? Albus wanted him to stay there?

The wolf was normally dormant when it wasn't a full moon, but now it was trying its darnedest to claw its way out and wreak vengeance on the bastards who dared hurt Harry. Only the knowledge that joining Sirius in Azkaban wouldn't help Harry kept Remus from letting it do as it pleased.

He tore a sheet of paper out of a writing pad and composed a reply.

 _Snape,_

 _Am coming to Hogsmeade. Meet me in the Three Broomsticks at two._

 _Lupin_

He gave the note to the owl and called the bookshop where he worked to tell them a family crisis would prevent him from coming to work today.

* * *

Of all the house heads, Pomona was the most kindly and easy-going. That didn't mean she never got angry; it meant she saved it for the people who truly deserved it. She was well aware of how the other Houses thought of Hufflepuff as "that house for people too stupid to go anywhere else", but it didn't bother her. _She_ knew Hufflepuffs were just as good as everyone else, and as long as her Badgers knew it too, she didn't give a fig for what the rest of the Houses said.

She hummed to herself as she prepared for the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw first years' first Herbology lesson, so absorbed in her beloved plants that she didn't notice the presence of someone else until they coughed.

"Why, Severus! I didn't see you there! Is it about the ingredients-"

"No, Pomona," her colleague interrupted, "it's about Harry Potter."

Ah, yes, James' and Lily's boy. His Sorting was a shock to everyone, but much as she would have liked the Boy Who Lived in her house, the Hat thought he belonged in Slytherin, and that was that. "What about him?"

It was then that she saw something very few people had ever seen: Severus Snape at a loss for words. "It's… Albus put him with Muggles who abused him."

Pomona blinked. "I think you should explain."

He explained. Like Molly Weasley before her, Pomona suddenly felt the urge to try her hand at Unforgivables.

"Have you told Minerva and Filius yet?" she asked, forcing down her rage towards the Dursleys and her wish to ship Harry off to St. Mungo's for a physical and mental health check-up.

"They have classes now," Severus replied, with a hint of his normal acidic tone. Pomona was glad to hear it; when Hogwarts' resident Potions Master wasn't being sarcastic, you got the uneasy feeling reality was disintegrating and you might find flying pigs playing Quidditch around the astronomy tower.

"Then I think the moment their classes end, we should ask Molly and Arthur to come over and the six of us will find a solution to this."

* * *

Harry struggled with his Transfiguration essay. Professor McGonagall made it sound so easy, but in practice – and on paper – it was a headache equal only to some of Uncle Vernon's cuffs. He was so busy trying to find the words to describe the wand movements for basic inanimate-inanimate transfigurations that he almost didn't hear someone clearing their throat behind him.

"Hello, Ron!" he chirped brightly when he looked round. "Hogwarts is great, isn't it? 'Course, the subjects are weird, but it's still amazing!"

Ron nodded, looking like he'd just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "Uh… Harry… I just want to say…" He stopped and glanced over his shoulder as if he'd dearly love to run out of the library and not stop till he was a hundred miles away. "Bloody hell, I'm making a right fool of myself! I'm sorry I ignored you after your Sorting."

This extraordinary apology caught Harry off guard. "But you didn't ignore me!"

"Didn't try to talk t' you, either," Ron muttered.

This stymied Harry for a moment. "Well, you're talking to me now, aren't you? Why did you ignore me?"

Ron squirmed. "'Cause everyone in my family's a Gryffindor, an' I thought they wouldn't like me being friends with a Snake."

Some people took House rivalry to bizarre extremes, Harry decided. Why would they disapprove of their children befriending someone from a different House? It made no sense.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Ron hastened to add, "They wouldn't mind, though, I was just being stupid."

"That's okay," Harry said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

An awkward silence descended for a moment.

"I brought some chocolate frogs," Ron said tentatively. "Want one?"

And that was why Draco, come in search of Harry, found them standing on the table trying to recapture a frog making a bid for freedom.

* * *

Remus drummed his fingers on the table. It was after two o'clock, and there was no sign of Snape. He couldn't help feeling slightly suspicious that this was a ploy to get revenge for a certain incident in Fifth Year, but he tried to fight off those thoughts. Snape wouldn't be so vindictive he'd use Harry to get his revenge, surely.

The Three Broomsticks door opened and in walked Snape. Even though Remus hadn't seen him except in passing since leaving school, he was still recognizable as the boy James and Sirius tormented so mercilessly. And it was debatable if there was anywhere in the world where he would look more out of place than in the cheery atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks.

Snape caught sight of Remus and the scowl that appeared to be permanently etched into his face deepened.

"You couldn't have come to Hogwarts?" he demanded by way of greeting.

"And have to answer Albus's questions?" Remus asked mildly, determined not to lose his temper yet. "What about Harry? Is he all right?"

Unspoken was the fact that if he wasn't, a pair of Muggles would find themselves making the local headlines: "Two Killed in Wolf Attack", to be precise. They might well end up that way, anyway.

"He's underfed and has nightmares, which occur with enough frequency for him to instinctively Silence his bed, but otherwise he appears fine. I intend to have him see Madam Pomfrey later today. He's in Slytherin, by the way." Snape's tone made it clear he added that little titbit in hopes of goading Remus.

The news was a surprise, but given Harry's home-life it was understandable. An abused child would learn plenty of cunning just to stay alive.

"I'm happy for him," Remus said calmly, not rising to the bait. "And I'm glad to see his head of house is so concerned about his students' wellbeing."

Uh-oh; Snape was going into a major sulk, or he was completely out of practice reading his former schoolmate's body language. Hoping to forestall this, he hurriedly added, "Tell me everything you know about what Harry's suffered, please."

"You won't like it."

Remus looked at him coolly. "I know that from what you said in your letter. Now tell me what those Muggles did to my godson."


	7. Chapter 7: Snape Loses an Argument

**Chapter 7: In Which Severus Loses an Argument**

 _It's true that some mistakes can never be amended no matter what you do, but that doesn't mean it's all right to give up before you even try._ **\- Noriko Ogiwara,** _ **Dragon Sword and Wind Child**_

"You know the forbidden corridor in the third floor?" said Ron, apropos of nothing.

"It's forbidden," Draco said shortly. Succinct (and unnecessary) as this statement was, it only made Ron more determined to say his piece.

"Fred and George – the twins, you know – say there's something exciting up there. They heard it snoring."

"Fred and George are the worst tricksters to plague Hogwarts in years. Professor Snape told my father so."

Yet again, Harry found himself stopping a fight breaking out. "Maybe they're right, but what were they doing on the third floor anyway?"

Ron shrugged. "Didn't ask. Don't want t' know, either."

"Well, Fred and George can have the third floor corridor, and they're welcome to it." Draco's tone practically dripped contempt for Weasleys in general and those two in particular. "What about your bet, Harry? Are you going to admit defeat?"

"Bet? What bet?" Ron asked immediately.

Harry winced. He'd almost forgotten about the bet. "I bet a hundred Galleons that I'll sail around the lake in a cauldron by Hallowe'en."

Ron's eyes did an excellent impersonation of dinner plates. "You're crazy! The teachers'll skin you alive if you try it! Even the _twins_ haven't tried that!"

Draco glared at Ron. "He made a bet, and he'll keep it or Merlin help him!"

"Don't suppose you've got any ideas on how I could do it?" Harry interrupted, giving Ron his best "puppy-dog-eyes".

The other boy hesitated. "Well… You could use Wingardium Leviosa on it t' keep it above the surface, s'ppose, but it'd be dangerous an' you'd best know how to swim. Or you could use a Bubblehead charm, but those're pretty advanced. An', if you don't want to get in trouble, you should do it when no one's around to see 'cept us."

Draco bristled. "Us? Who said you were invited?"

"If my friend's goin' to do something like that, I'll be there to watch," Ron retorted, planting his hands on his hips and looking her straight in the eye.

"Excuse me?"

Once again, Ron and Draco's enmity towards each other was diverted in the face of a greater enemy: Hermione Granger. The Ravenclaw stood behind them with a stack of books in her arms, ink stains on her face, and her hair even wilder than usual.

"I couldn't help overhear what you were saying, and I think it's shocking that you could even imagine doing something so stupid! Don't you know how many things could go wrong? You could drown, or catch hypothermia-"

"What's hyper-term-eeah?" Ron wondered aloud.

"-or be caught and expelled!"

Draco drew herself up to her full height – which was just an inch taller than Hermione – and gave the Ravenclaw the iciest glare she could manage. "I fail to see how what we do affects you. Even if we are caught and expelled, you had nothing to do with it. You could even say you tried to stop us. But if you even think of sneaking on us, I'll demonstrate a hex that removes a person's mouth."

Hermione looked outraged. "You can't do that! I've read about that hex; it's considered Dark magic!"

Ron snorted. Draco raised an eyebrow. Harry sighed.

"Look, Hermione, we're not breaking any rules, so there's no reason to worry about us."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Of course you're breaking the rules!"

"Is there a rule that says 'Thou shalt not use cauldrons for boats'? Then how can we be breaking the rules?"

"There's no rule that forbids us hiding a man-eating lion in the Headmaster's office, but I don't think that excuse would let someone who tried it off the hook," Hermione retorted.

Ron guffawed. "Who'd hide a lion in a school?"

"Your brothers," Draco said under her breath.

Harry tried to get the conversation back on track. "It's nice of you to be so worried, but it's really none of your business."

"That means go away," Draco added.

Hermione sniffed and stalked away. 

* * *

Minerva paced the length of the staff room impatiently. Pomona had asked her to come here, but there was no sign of her or any of the other staff, and if there was one thing Minerva hated, it was being kept waiting.

The door creaked open. Minerva spun around, expecting Pomona.

"Good afternoon, Minerva!" Filius squeaked cheerfully. "Pomona isn't here yet, I see."

"Why did she ask us here?" Minerva didn't hold out much hope that the Head of Hufflepuff had enlightening Filius about the reason for this meeting, but the possibility existed.

"Haven't the slightest idea. It's probably another mix-up with the class schedules."

Minerva shuddered. Class schedules were the teachers' worst nightmare. Compared to the horror they caused, You-Know-Who was a toddler throwing a tantrum. Not only did each teacher have to work out when each year would have its lessons, they had to ensure their schedule didn't clash with another teacher's, and there was no spell that did all the work for them.

"If it's anything to do with the schedules…" she began.

The door opened again and in stepped Pomona, Molly and Arthur. Minerva took one look at them and stifled a groan. The only reason Molly and Arthur came to Hogwarts during term-time was when the twins did something particularly outrageous, like that time in their first year when they conjured flashing signs saying "We're all DOOMED! It's true though I'm never right!" over Trelawney's head.

"What have they done this time?" the Head of Gryffindor asked wearily.

If they were lucky, it would be nothing worse than glamouring the doors so the other students thought the library was the Great Hall and the Charms classroom was Filch's office. If they weren't lucky, it would be something dangerous and life-threatening that would make the school look irresponsible, like sneaking onto the third floor corridor and being mauled by Fluffy.

"Hello, Minerva!" Arthur greeted her. He hadn't looked so upset since Charlie announced his intention to work with and live among the most dangerous creatures alive – and no, he didn't mean his brothers. "Mauled by Fluffy" began to look more and more likely. "Awful, isn't it? Can't imagine what Dumbledore's thinking!"

"That poor boy!" Molly agreed, looking furious and on the verge of tears all at once. "If he thinks he's going back there, I'll owl St. Mungo's and tell them the stress of the war has affected his mind!"

Minerva blinked. She got the feeling she was missing something here, and she didn't like it.

"Of whom are we talking?" she asked.

"Severus isn't here?" Pomona looked around the room as if she expected to see the Head of Slytherin hidden in one of the cupboards (which always stood half-open since an incident in '52 involving Dumbledore, Flitwick, and a Zonko's product). "Funny, that; I was sure – Ah, here he is now!"

Sure enough, Severus had just arrived, followed by…

"Remus! What are _you_ doing here?" 

* * *

_Dear Mother and Father,_

 _Hogwarts is just as you said it would be. Pansy Parkinson is one of my roommates and she does her best to drive me to St. Mungo's, but the other Slytherins give me no trouble._

 _As you may have already heard, Harry Potter is in Slytherin. He isn't bad for someone so infamously Light. Some of his behaviour is downright odd; he had to be ordered to eat a decent meal and I have it from Blaise that he has violent nightmares. Should I investigate?_

 _That brings me to another detail. Harry Potter is a Parselmouth. So far, the only people who know are his roommates, me, Professor Snape, and you. How should I deal with this? Should I bring the subject up?_

 _Give Aunt Bella my love._

 _Sincerely, Draco._

* * *

"No. No. I am not going in there. This is a terrible idea. You are not talking me into this. A herd of stampeding hippogriffs wouldn't make me go in there."

Ron glared at Draco. "Quit whining and open the door!"

Draco folded her arms. "I don't want to die horribly; my father would be most displeased."

Ron looked to Harry for help.

"You just have to open the door. You don't even have to look in if you don't want to," Harry said pleadingly. He didn't really care about what was on the third floor corridor, but Ron was determined to find out if his brothers invented their story or not, and Draco was the only one who knew a spell to open locked doors.

"No. I'm not going in there and I won't help you two do it, either. I'll tell a teacher."

"If you do I'll owl your parents and tell them you're friends with a blood traitor," Ron threatened.

"We're friends, are we? That's news to me. Resorting to blackmail; what a remarkably Slytherin tactic for a Weasley. Are you sure you're really a Weasley and not a random orphan your parents picked off the streets?"

Ron's face went white, red and purple in quick succession. Harry intervened, afraid the other boy might have a heart attack if this continued.

"Look, let's just leave it for now. Fred and George were probably making it up, anyway."

"Finally come to your senses, I see," Draco said.

Ron looked at the locked door longingly, but he was outnumbered and he didn't want to find out what was on the other side so badly that he'd go up against two Slytherins.

"Stupid idea anyway," he muttered, following them down the hall.

That was when Filch appeared around the corner. There was no time to hide.

As the caretaker frogmarched the three of them down to the staff room, Harry couldn't help wishing Dumbledore had never mentioned the third floor corridor. 

* * *

"You must be joking!"

"I think it's an excellent idea," said Filius.

"You've already proved how devoted you are to Harry," Pomona said.

"You meet your own criteria," Minerva admitted grudgingly.

"I'd take him in, but the Ministry wouldn't allow it," Remus said apologetically. "But You-Know-Who himself couldn't stop me from helping you look after him."

"And we can look after him during the summer and winter holidays," Arthur said. Molly nodded her agreement.

Severus looked at the occupants of the staff room with the same horror he'd felt for the Dark Lord and his fellow Death Eaters. They wanted him – him! The spy! The ex-Death Eater who'd escaped Azkaban by the skin of his teeth! The dreaded Potions Master who'd reduced scores of teenagers to tears with a single word! – to look after Potter. His worst enemy's child. Who looked exactly like his father.

"No. Find someone else; I am wholly unsuitable for a host of reasons."

"But you're his Head of House; of all the teachers he'll be most inclined to trust you." Pomona apparently didn't realise that Slytherins had vastly different personalities to Hufflepuffs.

"We need to have a feasible plan decided on before we confront Dumbledore, or he'll reject our concerns and send Harry back to the Muggles," Filius pointed out.

Severus gaped at him. "And what is wrong with him spending his time between the Weasleys and Lupin?"

"We'd love to take Harry in," Molly began.

"They have seven children of their own; do you honestly expect them to take in an eighth?" Minerva interrupted. "And Remus is a werewolf. The Ministry would intervene if they found out Harry was spending any length of time with him, and he'd end up in the care of a family like the Malfoys."

The Malfoys, if it wasn't for their ties to the Dark Lord, would have been an excellent choice. They had plenty of room, were the second richest Wizarding family in Britain, Draco and Harry got on well, and Lucius and Narcissa would have dearly loved another child. It was just a pity Lucius took his mother's blood purity ideas too much to heart when he was a teenager and was too afraid for his wife and daughter's lives to get out when he came to his senses.

"It would only be during the school year," Filius said, "and even though you'd be on record as his guardian, we'd all help equally."

Nods all round. Severus felt he was caught in a trap he'd made for himself and he hadn't even realised it until now. All this time he'd been trying to find someone to look after Potter, his colleagues and their friends were twisting his words until _he_ had to look after Potter.

He had a choice: he could continue arguing and lose spectacularly (and wouldn't Minerva gloat when he did?) or he could acquiesce and spend the rest of Potter's school years essentially raising the brat (shudder). Maybe he could go to St. Mungo's, give Bella a wand, and tell her he was a traitor; she might be so incensed she'd Avada him on the spot.

"Fine, but don't expect me to treat the boy any differently from the other students," he snarled.

For some extraordinary reason, everyone in the room looked smugly satisfied with themselves.

The door burst open and in charged Filch, pushing the youngest Weasley, Draco, and Potter in front of him.

"There you are, Professors," the Squib said with a grim smile. "Caught these 'uns on the third floor, trying to break into the forbidden corridor."


	8. Chapter 8: Muggles, Wolf & Parselmouth

**Ridiculously long A/N: A great big thank you to everyone who reviewed, and a special thanks to Guest for pointing out the embarrassing mistake I made last chapter.**

 **This chapter was one of those ones that didn't want to be written at first, then turned into a snowball and kept getting longer and longer. It turned out a bit (okay, a lot) differently than I thought it would. I'm not sure if I'm happy with it, so please review and tell me what you think.**

 **Fair warning, I've never written bonding moments before, so the Remus and Harry scenes are probably ridiculously sappy. Feel free to tear it to shreds; that's the only way I'll ever improve as a writer.**

 **gr8rockstarrox requested an extra-long chapter, so here it is** **And on time, too! Over four thousand words in a week; that's the most I've ever written at once.**

* * *

 **Chapter 8: The Muggles, the Wolf and the Parselmouth**

 _Do your duty and repent tomorrow._ **– Mark Twain**

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!" the Weasley matriarch thundered. "HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY DUMBLEDORE'S ORDERS?"

Ron traced patterns on the faded rug with the toe of his shoe, looking everywhere but at his parents. Harry stayed absolutely still in the hope he might make himself invisible if he wished hard enough. Draco held her head high and met the teachers' appalled looks with a sneer worthy of her father. She was the Malfoy heir; Malfoys did not show shame or embarrassment.

"It's not like we even opened the door," mumbled Ron sulkily.

"Only because you don't know a spell to open it and I wouldn't do it for you," Draco said, studying her fingernails with an air of nonchalance. She'd be damned if Weasley got off scot-free after he put in so much effort to get himself in trouble.

Harry's infuriatingly noble nature compelled him to step in. Honestly, what was he doing in Slytherin, anyway? He should be a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff.

"Don't blame Ron! We _had_ to do it; it was a dare." Every eye in the room turned to him.

The Weasley parents looked surprised and resigned in equal measure. Professor Snape glared at both the boys. Everyone else looked like they weren't sure who to be angry with anymore.

"The twins dared you, didn't they." Mr. Weasley didn't bother making it a question.

Harry hesitated. Draco wasn't a Legilimens, but she could guess what was going through his mind as if it was an open book. He wasn't willing to get the twins into trouble to get them out of it.

"They said they heard something snoring behind the door and dared us to go and see what it was," Draco told the adults.

"That's not true!"

Damn it. Harry definitely belonged in Gryffindor, if he wasn't willing to let someone else take the blame.

Ron looked from Harry to Draco in mute astonishment. One minute his mother was about to make good on the threat in her letter, the next Harry was making up some story about them being dared to break the rules and now he and Draco looked like they were about to stage a miniature version of the Battle of Hogsmeade during the First War.

"Miss Malfoy! Mr. Potter!" Snape didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to; his displeasure was as obvious as if he'd screamed at them loudly enough to deafen a Howler. "Detention with Mr. Filch tonight. You too, Mr. Weasley."

He raised an eyebrow at the Weasley parents, daring them to interfere. Mr. Weasley looked like the only thing he was certain of was that his son broke the rules and was being punished for it. Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, looked as if she knew Harry had lied to get Ron out of trouble, and gave him a worryingly-misty-eyed half-frown.

Salazar's teeth! Had Harry won the blood traitors' respect for trying to get their son out of the grave he dug for himself?

"Well, Ron, which do you want?" Mr. Weasley asked his son. "Detention with Filch or being slapped by your mother and lectured by me?"

Ron turned green. "The detention."

Hmm. Maybe Father was wrong when he said the Weasleys never punished their children. If Draco was given a choice between detention with Filch or being punished by her parents, she'd take Filch any day, but she'd assumed that Gryffindors wouldn't care about their parents' displeasure. Finding she was wrong was… disconcerting.

"Harry, there's someone here who'd like to talk to you," McGonagall said, gesturing to the only person in the room Draco didn't recognise. "This is Remus Lupin; he was a friend of your parents."

Lupin? She'd heard that name before somewhere… Oh yes, he was Dumbledore's pet werewolf, wasn't he? He was the one who tried to kill her godfather. Why was he here? Was the headmaster bringing in reinforcements to keep Harry from being 'corrupted' by Slytherins? One of his parents' friends would be a good way to do that.

Draco immediately decided that she would listen in on any conversations Harry had with Lupin.

Harry, blissfully ignorant of the thoughts going through his housemate's head, stared at Lupin as if he was Merlin himself. "You knew my parents?"

Snape made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl.

* * *

Harry couldn't believe it. He'd been caught breaking the rules, but instead of being beaten black and blue, he was given detention and allowed to meet a friend of his parents'! And Mr. Lupin had so many interesting stories of the adventures he had with Harry's father!

"…so James decided to try some tricks to impress Lily. He flew as close to the surface of the lake as he could, and he did just fine. Then he stood up on the broom…"

Harry winced, knowing whatever happened next couldn't be good. "Did he fall off?"

" _Fall_ off? He kept looking round to see if Lily noticed him and he forgot to control the broom. It stalled, but he kept going, and when he hit the water he drenched everyone on the shore!" Mr. Lupin smiled at the memory. "He got his wish; Lily noticed him all right. She yelled at him for recklessness, endangering himself, endangering everyone else, smacked him, and stormed off. James spent the rest of the week crowing over how Lily Evans finally talked to him."

Harry laughed. He wished he could remember his parents; hearing second-hand stories from Hagrid and Mr. Lupin about them just wasn't the same.

He said as much to Mr. Lupin. A strange yellowish tint appeared in the man's eyes.

"I don't suppose you've ever seen any photos of them?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. Mr. Lupin reached into his pocket and took out a worn photo, ragged around the edges.

"This is them on the day we left Hogwarts. That's James, there's Lily, that's me, and that's Peter Pettigrew."

Harry took the photo and stared at it. In the background stood the castle, overhead swooped several people on broomsticks, and in the middle of the picture were a young man and woman holding hands and waving at the camera. The man looked exactly like an older version of Harry with brown eyes and minus the scar, and the woman had bright red hair and green eyes. Next to them stood three other young men. One of them was obviously a young Remus Lupin and one was smiling weakly at the camera, hunched over as if he was terrified of something. Someone had spilled ink on the photo at some point, obscuring the third one's face.

"Who's that?" Harry asked, pointing at him.

A shadow passed over Mr. Lupin's face. "That, Harry, is Sirius Black."

* * *

"But, Minerva, young Harry must return to the Dursleys'! Only the blood wards can provide adequate protection!"

"Only the blood wards, fiddlesticks! Have the wards around Hogwarts not withstood everything from curious Muggles to Dark wizard attacks?" Minerva was in a fine rage. Not only did Dumbledore insist on continuing with his outrageous plan, he refused to even listen to the very good alternative plan they'd come up with!

"Harry is only away from Hogwarts for two months of the year. You yourself strengthened the wards on the Burrow, and if you don't think they're good enough, Bill can come and strengthen them even more," Arthur said reasonably.

"Do you _want_ the boy to be abused, Albus?" Severus demanded.

A look of utter shock crossed the Headmaster's face. "Of course not! I will personally take steps to ensure the Dursleys never again lay a finger on him!"

"But you can't be sure they won't!"

"If you dare say another word about sending that boy back, I'll owl the Board of Governors and tell them the stress of your duties have adversely affected your mental health," Pomona threatened.

Minerva and Albus both saw that unless everyone was calmed down, the office would quickly become a war zone. Minerva cast a quick Silencing spell on everyone present, even Albus, though she didn't doubt he could remove it in a trice if he wanted to. Filius, Pomona and the Weasleys resigned themselves to sitting in the side-lines until she decided to remove the spell. Severus silently yelled a few words at her that should never under any circumstances be used in a school and spent several minutes sulking.

"Albus, no matter what you think, Harry cannot go back to the Dursleys. No one has seen or heard anything of You-Know-Who for eleven years, and the blood wards are no use when the greatest threat to him is the Dursleys themselves. While he is at Hogwarts, Severus will keep an eye on him," she didn't have to look round to know the youngest Head of House was rolling his eyes at her, "and the rest of the year he can go to the Weasleys."

She lifted the spell with a flick of her wand and waited for Albus's reaction.

"My dear Minerva, I don't wish to offend anyone," Minerva suppressed her snort, "but there are some… ahem… pecuniary matters to consider before letting Harry live with Molly and Arthur." He was blissfully oblivious of the basilisk glares Molly gave him.

"Which will be solved when you transfer the allowance you gave the Dursleys to them," the Transfiguration teacher cut him off.

Molly went a reddish-purple colour. Minerva weighed the consequences of leaving the spell on or taking it off, and decided she would live longer (though everyone in the room would probably spend the rest of their lives stone deaf) if she removed it.

"IF YOU THINK FOR ONE MINUTE WE'LL ACCEPT A PENNY TO LOOK AFTER THAT POOR BOY-"

"Now, Molly-" Arthur tried to intercede.

"DON'T YOU "NOW, MOLLY" ME! DIDN'T YOU HEAR HER? HARRY WOULD THINK WE ONLY TOOK HIM IN BECAUSE WE WANTED MONEY!"

"Molly, be reasonable," Filius begged. "No one's bribing you to take Harry in; it's simply ensuring that you have enough money to feed and clothe him. Harry will understand."

Molly calmed down somewhat, but she continued to glare daggers at both Minerva and Albus. 

* * *

It was while Harry and Remus were in the middle of tea with Hagrid that Harry dropped the bombshell.

He was describing some of the times he performed accidental magic. Remus and Hagrid listened attentively, guffawed at some points, and plotted the Dursleys' slow, painful, creative deaths at others. Then Harry got to the time he found a snake in the garden…

"Then Aunt Petunia yelled at me to wake up, and the snake slithered right through the door and tried to bite her! She wouldn't go near my cupboard for a week afterward!"

Hagrid roared with laughter. Remus managed a grin, but his world had tilted on its axis.

The snake spoke to Harry. And Harry understood it.

Harry was a Parselmouth.

As a werewolf, and so a Dark creature as far as most wizards were concerned, Remus was intimately acquainted with how much people hated anything they considered "Dark". Parselmouths were considered even Darker than werewolves. If this ever got out Harry would go from being adored by the Light and hated by the Dark to being hated by the Light and adored by the Dark.

How? How was it possible? Lily was Muggleborn and there were no Parselmouths among the Potters. James' mother was a Black, it was true, and they were such a Dark family that it'd be odd if there weren't any Parselmouths somewhere along the line, but it would have manifested itself at some point before now.

Remus thought he'd escaped dangerous subjects when Harry didn't ask any more questions after he said Sirius and Peter were both dead. This was beyond a dangerous subject. How many people knew about this? Not many, obviously, or that Skeeter creature would have plastered it all over the Daily Prophet. Did Snape know?

 _If he knew and didn't warn me…_

"Been nice seein' yeh, 'Arry, an' yeh too, Remus," Hagrid boomed jovially. "Come 'gain soon, 'Arry, an' bring yer friends with yeh."

Remus came out of his thoughts with a jolt. Harry was getting ready to leave, and a look out the window at the rapidly-setting sun made it clear why.

The boy chattered happily on the walk back to the castle about his friends, his housemates, his dormitory and everything else that came into his head. Remus smiled and nodded at the right moments, but he only half-listened.

As they reached the main entrance, he finally decided to speak of what was on his mind. "Harry… when did you realise you could talk to snakes?"

It was as if someone showed Harry his greatest fear. His eyes widened, all the colour drained from his face, and he recoiled as if he'd been punched.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I won't do it again!"

The wolf in Remus stirred again at this outburst, only too obviously the result of the Muggles and their abuse. It was impossible for a werewolf to transform except on the full moon, but Remus was devoutly thankful there were hundreds of miles between Hogwarts and Surrey, or he might well have done the impossible.

He knelt down on the ground so he could look Harry in the eye, oblivious to the mud soaking through his trousers.

"Harry, you haven't done anything wrong."

Harry raised his head briefly. Lily's eyes, filled with fear and disbelief, looked up at him out of James' face, and for a moment Remus could have sworn he was looking at his dead friends.

"Why are you apologising?"

"'Cause now you'll think I'm a freak."

That did it. The moment Harry was safely ensconced in his common room or wherever it was that Slytherins went when not in classes or waging war on Gryffindors, Remus would find out where the Dursleys lived if he had to break into Dumbledore's office and Imperio him into giving their address. They'd be lucky if they survived the night.

"Harry, who told you you're a freak?"

"Aunt Petunia an' Uncle Vernon." He answered mechanically, without the slightest hint of emotion.

"You know you're not a freak, no matter what they say?"

"Professor Snape and the headmaster say so."

Well, at least Dumbledore had done some good, and Remus would make it his business to get some of the rarest, most expensive potions ingredients he could afford to thank Snape.

"Then why are you apologising?"

"I'm weird because I can speak to snakes, so now you won't want to see me again."

Remus felt like someone had ripped his chest open, dug a fishhook into his heart, and ripped it out. While a dozen Death Eaters Crucio'ed him. On the night of the full moon.

"Harry…" He stopped, unsure of how to continue. "I don't care if you can speak to snakes. Hell, I don't care if you turn into one! I spent ten years not knowing where you were, what happened to you, whether you were all right. Now I've finally met you, and _nothing_ could make me abandon you."

Harry glanced up at him again. The fear and disbelief were still painfully clear in his eyes, but hope had joined them now.

"But the Headmaster said I'm weird 'cause I can speak to snakes."

Remus just about kept his temper in check. Committing Dumbledoreicide would not help matters. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of white-blonde hair appear round the side of the castle and disappear in a flash. Hmm. An eavesdropper. Harry's Malfoy friend, he thought, unless there was more than one person at Hogwarts with such a unique hair colour. "Were those his exact words?"

Harry scrunched his face up in the way Lily used to when she was thinking. "No, he said it was a "gift", but he said it's really rare, so that's just a nice way of saying I'm weird."

Ah. So it was a case of misunderstanding and Hogwarts would not lose its Headmaster, then. Trying to explain that to Harry at this point would be an exercise in futility, so Remus changed the subject.

"Harry, do you know why no one told me where you were?" The boy shook his head. "I'm a werewolf."

The boy brightened up immediately. "Really? You mean you turn into a wolf?"

Remus nodded slowly, telling himself that it was perfectly normal if Harry panicked or was terrified of him and his heart shouldn't feel like it was about to tear in two.

"Wow!" Wait, what? "Can you turn into a wolf whenever you want or is it only on some days? Are you afraid of silver? Does water burn you? Can I watch next time?"

"Harry…" Remus was at a loss for words. No one _ever_ responded to an announcement like that with joy. Even Muggleborns knew werewolves were dangerous. Had the Dursleys beaten all sense of self-preservation out of the boy? He sighed and started to answer the stream of questions as best he could. "I can only turn into a wolf when the moon's full, I'm not afraid of silver but large amounts of it cause a mild allergic reaction, water doesn't burn me, and no, you can't watch. My wolf form is very dangerous, Harry; I have no control over it and it would kill you if it saw you."

Harry looked more disappointed that he wouldn't be able to see his new friend as a wolf than that he was in danger from him once a month.

Remus found he couldn't bear that disappointed look and continued without consulting his brain first, "Of course, there's a potion called Wolfsbane that allows me to keep my mind during the transformation, and it would be safe for you to see me then."

Harry grinned happily. Really, the boy's moods changed directions faster than a weathervane in a cyclone. Maybe he should tell Madam Pomfrey he might need mood stabilising potions…

"Do you have any more photos of my parents?" Harry asked, suddenly shy.

"Yes, I have dozens from our school days," it was just a pity Sirius was in most of them, and Harry was bound to be curious about who the person who spent so much time with his father was, "and several from after they got married… I even have one or two of you as a baby. I'll ask Minerva if I can visit on Saturday, and I'll bring them then – Oof!"

A skinny, undersized eleven-year-old barrelled into his chest. It took Remus a moment to realise Harry wasn't trying to break his ribs; the boy was hugging him.

So he hugged him back. 

* * *

Severus looked forward to the conversation that awaited him with as much enthusiasm as he looked forward to the Dark Lord's inevitable return. It wasn't enough that the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-His-Life-More-Complicated was in his house and friends with his goddaughter; fate had to ensure Severus couldn't escape Potter's spawn even for a minute and so he found himself agreeing to be the brat's _guardian_.

Lupin was making arrangements with Potter and Minerva for future visits, so it looked like his future would be filled with trying to stop the brat imitating his wretched father's stunts. Merlin help them all when he realised the Weasley twins were essentially the Marauders version 2 and joined in their efforts to cause mayhem. The school wouldn't survive till Christmas when that happened.

Approaching footsteps in the hallway outside his office alerted him to the fact Minerva and Har – no, _Potter_ – were returning from their doubtless tearful farewell with the wolf.

"There you are, Severus," Minerva said. "Remus has something he wishes to talk to you about before he leaves, but first I believe you have something to tell Harry."

Potter looked at him with a mixture of apprehension and outright terror. Before Severus knew what he was doing, he found himself saying, "Potter, stop looking like you just saw an Acromantula! You're not going back to the Dursleys."

It was truly amazing how quickly the fear vanished and was replaced by mere curiosity.

Severus searched for the right words. He was both annoyed and relieved that Minerva stayed in the room.

"Mr. Potter," he began, "you are not returning to the Dursleys, but since you are underage, you must have a guardian." If the boy was anything like James, he'd be treated to a long rigmarole on how he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, thank you kindly. But no, Potter kept his mouth shut. "Ron's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, have agreed to look after you during the holidays, and while you are at Hogwarts, I will be your guardian."

Potter's eyes widened. Severus braced himself for the anguished yells that were sure to follow; what Potter would want a Snape as their guardian?

"You mean… you'll punish me if I get in trouble and things like that?" the brat asked tentatively.

Hmm. Perhaps he didn't know what "guardian" meant in this context. Severus looked to Minerva for help. The Head of Gryffindor took pity on him and came to his rescue.

"That is part of it, but Professor Snape will also look after you and act as essentially a father figure."

The Potions Master forgot his dignity and gawked at her. Father figure? _Him_?

Potter looked suspicious. "You're just doing this 'cause you feel sorry for me."

"No, I am not. I agreed to it-" _was forced into it_ , he added silently "-because you cannot return to the Muggles and you need an adult's supervision until you are of age."

The brat went from suspicion to disbelief to thoughtfulness to amazement. Good grief, the boy was easier to read than a first year textbook. Some Occlumency training was needed, perhaps.

"You're my guardian because you want to be?"

Because six other people wanted him to be, actually, but that was beside the point. "Yes."

The next moment Severus thought Potter had foregone a screaming fit and physically attacked him as the boy barrelled into him. He started to reach for his wand before he realised Potter was _hugging_ him.

Minerva, of course, grinned like the cat that got the cream. 

* * *

"What did Harry say?" Remus asked.

Snape scowled even more than usual. "He didn't believe me and then he hurled himself at me and burst into tears. He now appears to be under the illusion that I'm Merlin come back from the grave or some such nonsense. Enough about the boy; what did you want to say?"

"It's about the Muggles. We'll have to tell the Aurors-"

"Thank you for stating the blindingly obvious."

Remus gritted his teeth. "-but I would like to get some revenge on Harry's behalf before they go to Azkaban. Could you leave telling the Aurors until tomorrow?"

"Minerva is going to report it, but if she has any sense at all she'll leave it until after Poppy checks Harry and can provide evidence to support his claims. Since Harry is now in his dormitory under the effects of a Dreamless Sleep potion, that won't happen until tomorrow."

Remus smiled. "Good. Now, can you tell me where the Dursleys live?"

"They live in Little Whinging. I'll Apparate us into their garden."

What? "You're coming too?"

Snape smirked at his confusion. "They abused a child I swore to protect, and Petunia insulted Lily and I when we were children. Did you think I'd leave their punishment in your hands alone?" 

* * *

The Muggle police were called to Number 4, Privet Drive in the early hours of the morning. They found Mr. Dursley in a state of shock, Mrs. Dursley hysterical, and their son had fainted.

The Dursleys told them an extraordinary story about lights that flickered on and off, floating furniture, doors and windows that opened and closed by themselves, chairs that turned into cacti, and how all three of them spontaneously developed a bad case of boils which then vanished without a trace. Strange to relate, nary a sign of all these strange occurrences was to be found.

It was obviously a case of too much to drink.


	9. Chapter 9: Slytherin's Seeker

**A/N: Time skips ahead! Again, if something isn't mentioned, assume it happened more or less the same as in canon. Or invent chilling tales of life-or-death struggles over who sits where in the Slytherin common room; whichever appeals to you. Since I want to get to the main plot of the story (even though I'm not sure what it is yet) sometime before Christmas, I won't to go into every event of every day.**

 **Yes, Harry saves his parents' betrayer. Yes, this will be important later (probably, assuming the story sticks to the tentative outline).**

 **From now on I solemnly swear I'll do my best to make the chapters 3,500 words long at least.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Slytherin's Seeker**

 _When you've done something wrong, admit it and be sorry. No one in history has ever choked to death from swallowing his pride._ **\- Unknown**

"What was an average day with the Dursleys like, Harry?" Healer Dashenthorpe asked as Auror Shacklebolt took notes.

Harry thought for a moment. "Aunt Petunia would wake me up so I could make breakfast, then the Dursleys would eat and I'd do the chores. Then I'd eat the scraps and wash up, and go to school, and when I came back I'd do more chores. Then I'd make dinner, and supper later, then I'd go back to my cupboard and do my homework by the light that got through the door."

Professor Snape's usual frown was in place, but he was clutching the back of Harry's chair with such force that he might well snap it in two. Professor McGonagall looked like she was about to murder someone and enjoy every minute of it. Madam Pomfrey ground her teeth. Professor Dumbledore's eyes stopped twinkling.

"What about when they went on holidays?" Shacklebolt asked, scribbling furiously on his sheet of parchment.

"They'd leave me with Mrs. Figg."

"And what about when someone visited?"

"I'd go to Mrs. Figg's or stay in my cupboard. Unless it was Aunt Marge; then I just did my normal chores."

"Who is Aunt Marge?"

"Uncle Vernon's sister. She breeds dogs and she'd bring some of them with her. Sometimes she'd make them chase me. She said it was funny."

Madam Pomfrey got up suddenly. "Severus, Minerva, could I have a word with you, please?"

Dashenthorpe and Shacklebolt looked at her, surprised, then looked at the two professors. They both blanched at the looks on their faces.

"By all means," Dashenthorpe said hurriedly. "Shall we continue with the questions in your absence or wait for your return?"

"Continue," Madam Pomfrey said with a dismissive wave as she shepherded the two teachers out the door.

Harry watched them go with a mixture of curiosity and fear. Professor Snape was the only one of the staff he remotely trusted, and even then it was more because of his status as Head of Slytherin than anything he'd done to help him. Harry wasn't stupid, no matter how many unkind remarks Draco made about his intelligence, and he knew Dumbledore had at least something to do with his being placed with the Dursleys.

"Ahem," coughed Shacklebolt, drawing his attention back to the Healer and Auror. "Did the dogs ever catch you?"

"They did a few times, but then Aunt Petunia told Aunt Marge to stop letting them chase me because I couldn't do the chores when I was bitten and she didn't want to waste bandages on me."

Shacklebolt pressed down on his quill so hard he tore a hole in the parchment.

* * *

Life at Hogwarts settled into a sort of routine after the Interrogation, as Harry took to calling it. His uncle and aunt were apparently in Ministry custody and Dudley was shipped off to some relative (not Aunt Marge), but there were so many fascinating things to think about that he hardly spared them a thought.

Every move you made or word you said was important in Slytherin. There were more rules than you could shake a stick at. No matter how much you loathed another Slytherin, you couldn't show it in front of other houses or Bad Things would happen. You had to weigh the consequences of your actions before acting. You couldn't afford to alienate students who were relatives of powerful or wealthy people. Other Houses looked down on you simply because you were in Slytherin, but your behaviour must not play into their hands. Slytherins must always show a united front to the other Houses, no matter how divided it truly was. You must never, ever disgrace your House.

And that was just the explicitly stated rules. There were dozens of others that everyone knew but no one mentioned. Rules like, never mention certain events or people. Never openly discuss certain types of magic. Never show too much curiosity about someone's family. Never let people know your weaknesses. That last one also precluded asking Draco, since admitting you didn't know something was tantamount to showing weakness.

The whole thing gave Harry a headache.

First and second years were given some leeway, but Harry was painfully aware that he was at an immediate disadvantage because he simply didn't know who was related to whom or what topics were safe to bring up.

So, he found himself spending more and more time in the library.

Harry stumbled over to the table he'd come to think of as "his" since he'd never seen anyone else use it, his arms full of books describing Wizarding culture, the history of various families, and how the Ministry worked. Unfortunately, someone was already there.

Harry hadn't seen Neville since the Sorting, and he couldn't help thinking the Hufflepuff looked even more miserable than on the train.

"Hello," Harry said politely. "Mind if I sit here?"

Neville tore himself away from his Potions textbook. "Of course," he said sadly, in the sort of voice that made you think life was a vale of tears and anyone who said otherwise was deluding themselves.

"What's wrong?" Had he lost his toad again?

Neville looked like he was about to burst into tears. "I'm going to fail Potions, I just know it!"

Harry frowned. "Why do you think that?"

"Because Professor Snape's terrifying, but Gran wants me to be an Auror and I can't disappoint her!"

This very disjointed reply hardly shed any light on the situation. Harry couldn't for the life of him see what Neville's grandmother's plans for his future had to do with Neville's fear of Professor Snape or his certainty he would fail Potions.

"You're wrong about Professor Snape," Harry said, settling on the only subject he could speak of with some sort of certainty. "He _looks_ scary, but he's not too bad."

Neville stared at him as if he'd seen him tap-dancing with a Crup on the staff table. "He was a Death Eater!"

One benefit of all the extra reading Harry did lately was that he now knew what a Death Eater was and he also had a good idea of how many of them were free. Draco's father was free since he claimed "Imperius", something Harry didn't understand yet, and Professor Snape was free because Dumbledore pulled strings somewhere to get him released.

The headmaster might not be at the top of Harry's "Most Trustworthy People" list (actually, if there was any such list, Hagrid would be at the top of it, followed by Mr. Lupin, followed by Draco and Professor Snape), but he assumed Dumbledore wouldn't give a job teaching children to someone who really supported Voldemort's insane cause.

He said as much to Neville. The Hufflepuff didn't look convinced.

"But I get scared just thinking about Potions!" the boy wailed. "Gran said she'd send me a Howler if I didn't get an O on my tests!"

What was an oh in this context and what was a Howler?

Harry's Slytherin side, which had become more and more active lately, saw an opportunity here. He could help Neville and remove the need for all this reading in one go. "I've read the Potions textbook. It sounds a lot like cooking, and I'm good at cooking. I could teach you to chop and dice things properly, if you want. If you know you can do the work properly, you might not be so scared of Professor Snape."

Neville looked like he might bow down and worship Harry on the spot. "You'd do that? Really?"

Harry nodded. After all, if he needed help, he could always ask Draco. "Could you do something for me in return?"

Neville started to look wary. "What do you want?"

"Don't know if you've heard this, but I was raised by Muggles. There's lots of things I don't know about the Wizarding world. Could you tell me about it?"

And that was how Harry and Neville entered into what Uncle Vernon used to call "a mutually beneficial agreement".

* * *

It took Draco three full days to discover what Harry was doing. She promptly threw a tantrum. And Harry's luck being what it was, this happened in the abandoned classroom Harry and Neville had commandeered as a Potions/History class in the middle of Neville's description of how the Ministry of Magic came into being.

"Why'd you go to a pathetic little _Hufflepuff_?" she demanded with a sneer at the unfortunate Neville. "Why didn't you ask me? I thought we were friends!"

Harry reigned in his temper, telling himself that from what Neville said rich Pureblood heirs were for the most part spoiled brats before (and often after) going to Hogwarts and he shouldn't expect her to grow out of that all at once. "I can have more than one friend!"

Wrong thing to say. Draco went into a sulk on the spot. "You've hardly spoken to me for days!"

This wasn't quite true. "We talk at dinner, and in classes, and we talked in the common room this morning. You called me an idiot."

"You _are_ an idiot. Why are you spending time with him and not with me?"

"Because I'm not teaching you Potions," Harry pointed out reasonably.

Draco looked at Neville and the sneer returned. "Why are you wasting your time on him, anyway? He'll never be anything but a failure. Be careful, Potter; one of his potions might kill you."

Poor Neville looked abjectly miserable. He didn't even try to defend himself.

Harry glared at Draco. "Don't you dare talk about my friend like that!"

The resulting shouting match could be heard in Slytherin common room, and it ended in Harry using a word he'd heard Dudley call Aunt Petunia once and getting slapped by Draco, who then stormed off.

Neville stood in the middle of the room, his mouth hanging open. "But – You – She-" he stammered incoherently.

"Sorry about that," said Harry apologetically. "She can be pretty mean at times."

He'd just broken multiple rules. He'd fought with a fellow Slytherin in front of a member of another House. He hadn't thought before acting. He had alienated a student with rich, powerful relatives. And yet, he didn't particularly care. Did that make him a bad Slytherin?

"You said I'm your friend," Neville said quietly, in the tone of a man who saw a unicorn in his garden.

"You _are_ my friend."

Neville looked like he would like to say something else but wasn't entirely sure what. Eventually, he just smiled.

* * *

Harry and Draco refused to speak to each other for several days. Because of this, Harry spent more time with Theodore and Blaise, and Draco spent more time with Pansy and Tracey. Crabbe and Goyle followed Draco everywhere, of course, and Millicent formed the fourth member of Harry's Slytherin friends.

It took Harry less than a day of associating with his new friends to know life with them would never be dull. Theodore was obsessed with collecting insects. This was all well and good, but he carried some specimens with him at all times and they weren't always dead. Millicent was deadly afraid of anything with more than four legs. Blaise was obsessed with tidiness. Harry didn't mind insects, but he also wasn't enthusiastic about them jumping into his pumpkin juice.

The resulting conversations were always loud, angry, and ended in at least two people not talking to Theodore.

Theo's hobby ended up causing a lot of trouble on the day of their first flying lesson.

Harry buttered a slice of toast while half-listening to Blaise and Millie's argument about the merits of some Quidditch team when it happened. The bulk of owl post had arrived, but overhead a few straggling owls still fluttered. Theo hummed tunelessly to himself as he flicked through a book that probably broke a few school rules simply by being in the school.

And Pansy leapt up with a piercing shriek, clutching at her throat.

Every eye at Slytherin table promptly fixed on her. The other Houses all abandoned their breakfasts and craned their necks to see what was happening. Judging by the looks on their faces, they thought someone was being murdered.

"What's wrong?" Tracey asked her friend.

Draco, who despite spending all her time around the other two girls didn't seem to enjoy their company much, spared them a glance and promptly turned back to her letter.

Pansy looked around wildly. "YOU!" she yelled, pointing at Theo. "You did it on purpose!"

Theo blinked. So did everyone else.

"What's he done?" Blaise asked.

"One of those plagues of mankind he hoards found its way into her teacup," Draco drawled.

Millie and Theo grinned. Harry laughed and turned it into a cough. Blaise smirked.

Pansy looked like she would dearly love to kill all four of them with her bare hands, but all the other Houses were watching the proceedings with great interest. Taking any action against them right now would break the "no fighting in front of other Houses" rule.

Slytherin had flying lessons with Gryffindor. Pansy was still angry with Theo, and who better to take her anger out on than the Gryffindors?

"Hold your hand out and say, "Up!"" Madam Hooch ordered.

"Up!" everyone chorused.

Harry's broom jumped straight into his hand. So did Draco's and Ron's. Pansy's made a half-hearted leap then settled down again. Crabbe's and Goyle's didn't even lift an inch.

Madam Hooch surveyed them critically. "Everyone whose broom hasn't responded, try again. Everyone else, good work."

"Up!" Pansy shouted.

Her broom shot up and walloped her across the face. This happened just as Ron was bragging about his flying skills and waving his wand around for emphasis.

"You jinxed it!" she yelled at the Gryffindor.

"And then I – What did you say?" Ron stared at her.

"You jinxed my broom!"

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did!"

The situation quickly devolved into a shouting match. Madam Hooch stalked over to them.

"Parkinson! Weasley! Stop that this instant!"

They stopped shouting, but they continued to glare at each other.

"Now, class, you're going to rise into the air and come down again immediately. Any fooling around and you'll never be allowed on a broom again."

When it was Harry's turn, he looked dubiously at the rickety broom, remembered Hermione's fears about flying, and felt very, very worried.

"Mr. Potter, on three," Madam Hooch called. "One, two, three!"

Harry shut his eyes and pushed off the ground gently.

A minute passed. Nothing happened. Confused, he opened his eyes. He was floating in the air over his classmates' heads, and he hadn't noticed a thing. An exhilarating rush of excitement hit him. Why had he been worried? Flying felt _right_ in an impossible-to-describe way, as if he'd found his reason for existing.

He experimentally leaned forward. The broom moved forward. The same happened when he leaned back or to the side.

"Mr. Potter, come down now." Madam Hooch waited impatiently, tapping the toe of her boot against the ground.

He glided down to the ground, grinning from ear to ear. Flying was brilliant!

It was during the ten minutes' flying time at the end of the lesson that disaster struck, and it was all Pansy's fault. The students all flew at different heights. Of the people involved in the catastrophe, Ron was highest, Pansy about a foot below, Harry below her, and Theo below him. Madam Hooch was on the ground, trying (and failing from the looks of things) to explain to Crabbe and Goyle how to hold their brooms properly.

What possessed Ron to bring his pet rat to flying class was anyone's guess, but as Ron practiced a loop-de-loop, Scabbers decided to poke his head out of his owner's pocket. Ron didn't notice anything, but Pansy did.

Harry drifted lazily below them, half-listening to Blaise and Theo's passive aggressive argument over whose family was more "pure", whatever that meant. He saw Pansy remove her wand from her sleeve, but paid no attention until she pointed it at Ron. Immediately alert, he brought his broom to a halt and watched. Scabbers, looking very alarmed, sailed out of Ron's pocket and into Pansy's hand. She held him tightly, ignoring his struggles, and manoeuvred her broom so she was directly over Theo.

Events unfolded very quickly.

Harry realised what she was doing and yelled, "No!"

Scabbers realised it too and bit her hand.

Pansy yelled and dropped the rat.

Scabbers landed on Theo's head, and no one takes kindly to having something with sharp claws dropped on them. Theo let out a blood-curdling scream and threw a punch at the strange object on his head. Scabbers sailed through the air, straight towards the ground.

Harry didn't think. He acted. He dived towards the falling rat. Yells and shouts echoed around him. He ignored them all, eyes firmly on Ron's pet. Almost there… almost… almost… His fist closed around the terrified rat and he pulled up. Then he blinked, because _how did the ground get so close_?

"Mr. Potter!" Madam Hooch stormed over to him, her eyes wide and face drained of all colour. "How dare you – Any idea – Could have died-" she spluttered incoherently.

All the students landed and gathered around. Various degrees of shock or amazement were written on their faces.

Madam Hooch was speechless. "Come with me, Mr. Potter," she ordered at last. "And for Merlin's sake, put down that flea-bitten creature!"

Harry suddenly realised he was still holding Scabbers, who appeared to have fainted. He handed him over to Ron, who had gone a ghostly white. It wasn't a good colour for him at all; it made his freckles all the more obvious.

"Thanks," the Gryffindor mumbled.

Harry followed Madam Hooch down to the dungeons, his head in a whirl. Had he broken a school rule? Was he being expelled and she was going to tell him to get packed and get out? Would Ron's family want anything to do with him if he was expelled?

The Flying teacher came to a halt in front of a door. She knocked once and pushed it open. "Excuse me, Severus, but could I have a word with you?"

A moment later, Professor Snape emerged from the room, looking decidedly annoyed. "I hope you realise my students are in the middle of brewing a very delicate potion, Rolanda. Without my supervision they will likely blow up the castle."

Madam Hooch ignored her colleague's grumbling. "Severus, Terence Higgs is leaving this year, isn't he?"

Snape blinked. "Yes, but what has that to do-"

"I believe I've found you a replacement."

Snape looked at her, then at Harry. " _Potter_? Has it slipped your mind that first years can't play Quidditch?"

"I'm sure Dumbledore would make an allowance just this once," said Hooch enthusiastically.

Harry and Snape wore matching looks of incomprehension.

"What-" Snape began.

"It was the most amazing thing! Only his father could have done it! The Weasley boy dropped his rat and Potter performed the best Wronski feint I ever did see to catch it!"

Apparently, Harry wasn't being expelled. What a Wronski feint was, and what it had to do with him rescuing Scabbers, were mysteries he would have to investigate later.

"Hmm." Snape gave him an inscrutable look. "I'll tell Flint. He can decide whether Potter's good enough for an exception to be made."

* * *

Draco would sooner cut her own tongue out than admit it, but she'd found the past few days extremely dull without Harry. Davis and Parkinson cared about boys, famous Quidditch players and beautifying spells, and very little else. She told herself that was the reason she found their company so boring. The idea she might _miss_ being Harry's friend was utterly preposterous. She was the Malfoy Heir; a Malfoy never made friends for the sake of having friends, merely for the sake of having tools or allies.

A Malfoy also never apologised if they could avoid it. Harry wouldn't stop ignoring her unless she apologised. And knowing how absurdly noble he was, he'd insist she apologise to Longbottom as well. Was her pride really worth getting her friend back?

The portrait that guarded the entrance to the Slytherin common room slid back and Harry walked in. He froze when he saw her sitting on one of the couches. They stared at each other in silence. Everyone else in the room continued whatever they were doing, but the first years at least watched proceedings out of the corner of their eye.

The silence stretched on and on. Finally, Draco couldn't bear it any longer.

"What happened?"

Harry relaxed minutely. "I don't know yet. I've to meet Flint and Higgs on the Quidditch pitch at seven."

The other Slytherins abandoned all pretence of not listening.

"That's a pitiful excuse for a lie, Potter," Parkinson sneered. "As if they'd let _you_ play Quidditch!"

"Why wouldn't they?" Zabini enquired. "You saw him fly earlier."

A squabble immediately broke out between those who thought Harry wouldn't play, those who thought he would, and those who wanted to do the Slytherin thing and wait for proof before jumping to conclusions.

Harry took advantage of their distraction to head towards his dormitory. Draco, on impulse, called out as he passed her.

"Harry…" She paused, trying to force the next words past the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat. "I'm sorry."

"…Okay."

Strange. As apologies went, that was a pathetic one. As acceptances of apologies went, that was an even more pathetic one. Yet as Harry vanished through the dormitory door, Draco felt as if a weight she hadn't even noticed before had just lifted off her shoulders.

* * *

"We won't use the Quaffle or the Bludgers, just the Snitch," Flint said. "Whoever catches the Snitch first will be the Seeker from now on."

Harry hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt. He was going to play a sort of Quidditch match against the current Slytherin Seeker to see which of them was better. Terence Higgs was much older than him, had a proper broom instead of just a school one, and had played Quidditch before. Harry didn't hold out much hope of winning.

Not only had half of Slytherin House come to see the match, so had Neville and Ron, who had brought contingents of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors along with them. A few curious Ravenclaws, including Hermione, followed them. Most of the teachers had come to see what was so interesting to their students, so the stands were crowded. Harry wished that there weren't quite so many people around to witness his humiliating defeat.

Slytherin's rules about showing a united front were held in abeyance. Most of the House cheered for Higgs; some, Draco among them, cheered for Harry. The majority of the other Houses didn't care who was Seeker as long as they didn't win too often, which was probably why so many cheered for Harry too.

"When I release the Snitch, wait a full minute before chasing it," Flint yelled over the din of the crowd. How he managed to make himself heard without a megaphone was a mystery. Harry suspected magic was involved.

The little golden ball flew into the air, circled around the two Seekers, and zoomed off to parts unknown. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, led by Ron and Neville, started counting down the seconds before the minute was up at the top of their lungs.

"Five – four – three – two – ONE!" they bellowed.

Harry shot towards where he last saw the Snitch. He hardly noticed the older boy as he scanned the field for anything small and golden. There! …No, it was just one of the lights the teachers set up glinting off a Ravenclaw's watch.

After a frantic search of the field, both Seekers halted in mid-air and looked around, baffled. Where could it have gone in such a short time? Harry wondered if one of the spectators had cast some sort of spell on it to make it impossible to see. That sounded like just the sort of thing the Weasley twins would do.

The spectators in the background continued shouting the name of whoever they supported. The sun sank below the horizon and a chill descended on the pitch. Harry wished he'd brought gloves.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. The Snitch hovered over one of the empty stands to his left. He stole a look over his shoulder. Higgs hadn't spotted it yet.

Harry angled his broom downward, straight towards the Snitch. Higgs noticed what he was doing and followed. They were neck and neck – Higgs was slightly ahead – the Snitch was _right there_ – Harry reached as far out as he could. His hand closed around the little ball.

The spectators burst into wild cheers. Hermione hugged Neville. Ron and the twins did a sort of victory dance. Theo, Blaise, Millie and Draco yelled something at the top of their lungs that was completely drowned out by the rest of the shouts.

If a practice match was this exciting, Harry couldn't wait until the real thing.


	10. Chapter 10: The Cerberus

**A/N: Something went wrong with the last chapter and the text showed up all in bold. I think it's fixed now, and hopefully it was just a one-off glitch with FFN and it won't happen again.**

 **I'm rearranging the time-line to suit the story, so don't be surprised if something happens sooner or later than in canon.**

 **Disclaimer: Harry Potter and any lines from** _ **Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone**_ **are © J. K. Rowling. I am not J. K. Rowling, so I don't own it.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10: The Cerberus**

 _But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,  
In proving foresight may be vain:  
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men  
Gang aft agley,  
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain  
For promis'd joy! – _**Robert Burns,** _ **To A Mouse**_

The excitement of his appointment to the Quidditch team hadn't worn off yet. Harry found concentrating on anything but Quidditch, Quidditch and more Quidditch absurdly difficult. So, much as he looked forward to his first Potions lesson with interest, he dreaded it too.

Professor Snape had made a point of asking him every evening before curfew how he was, but those were the only times he'd spoken to his guardian since the Interrogation. He was going to meet Mr. Lupin tomorrow, and the Weasleys invited him over to their house on Sunday, so the Professor was the only one of his new… "family", he supposed they could be called, who he didn't know very well.

Well, if you wanted to get technical, he didn't know Mr. Lupin very well, but Professor McGonagall had waxed eloquent about his misadventures as a schoolboy – many of which were also Harry's father's misadventures – and he didn't know the adult Weasleys at all, except for that very brief meeting with Mrs. Weasley at King's Cross. Ron and the twins talked so much about their family, though, that he felt like he'd known them for years. So, Professor Snape was the only one of his family that he didn't know much about, except that he was the Head of Slytherin, Draco's godfather, and one of the best Potions Masters alive.

He hoped the Professor didn't expect _him_ to be a great Potions student; helping Neville was one thing, since Neville was good at Herbology and didn't mind icky things like spider's legs or newt eyes, and it was really only the brewing part he had trouble with. Harry had the brewing down all right, but didn't want to think too much about the fact he'd have to chop up dead animals. And if he started thinking about catching the Snitch in the middle of brewing… That certainly wouldn't endear him to Snape.

A sharp pain in his ear brought him back to reality. Hedwig sat on his shoulder, looking as annoyed as an owl could. Tied to her leg was a note.

Harry gave her a bit of toast and untied the note. Hedwig wolfed down the toast and started looking around in hopes someone else might have something for her.

 _Dear Harry,_

(The first part of the note was obscured by spilt tea and tomato sauce; he could just about make out "get Friday afternoons off") _…come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Bring your friends with you if you want._

 _Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

 _Hagrid_

"Blaise, can I borrow your pen?" Harry asked.

Blaise took a pen and ink out of his bag and tossed them across the table to him without taking his eyes from the Quidditch scores in the Daily Prophet. Harry scribbled an acceptance on the back of the paper and gave it to Hedwig.

Now, who could he invite? Ron and Draco were his closest friends, but what about Theo, Blaise, Millie and Neville? Would Hagrid mind if he brought all of them? Or perhaps just Ron and Draco? But then they'd spend the entire visit at each other's throats. Ron, Draco and Neville, then? Maybe Neville wouldn't want to go if Draco was going.

"Harry Potter."

"Here, sir," Harry chirped.

Ron, sitting at the table in front, twisted his head around to gaze at him in amazement as Snape continued roll call. "Why do you sound so bloody _cheerful_?"

"Because I'm trying to forget I'll be cutting up animals in a few minutes," Harry said.

"Weasley! Potter!" Uh-oh. The Professor didn't look happy. "Do you know the material by heart?"

Ron and Harry exchanged a confused glance. Blaise, next to Harry, buried his head in his hands.

"Potter, if you make Professor Snape deduct points, I'll put some of Theo's bugs in your bed!" he hissed. Harry tried to ignore him.

"No. Sir," Ron was saying, tacking on the "sir" when Dean Thomas, his partner for the lesson, dug his elbow into his ribs.

"Then why are you not paying attention to the lecture?" By now the Professor was past "not happy" and closer to "downright furious".

"Sorry, sir," Harry mumbled.

He listened with all his might and main as Snape continued lecturing on how to make a simple boil cure potion. Thankfully, it didn't sound like they would have to cut anything up in this lesson. Crushing snake fangs didn't count.

Nothing exploded and no one had to go to the hospital wing. All things considered, Potions was one of the least exciting lessons Harry had so far. Blaise and Harry's potion might not be the best in the class, but they could console themselves with the certainty that it was at least better than Crabbe and Goyle's. That those two got through the lesson without melting a cauldron – or themselves – was proof that miracles are still with us.

"Draco, want to visit Hagrid with me?" Harry asked as the students filed out of the classroom.

A brief look of distaste flickered across Draco's face. "I've nothing better to do, so yes."

"Ron, do you want to come?"

"Eh?" Ron blinked at him. "Where?"

"To visit Hagrid," Harry clarified.

"Sure, why not?"

* * *

"There yeh are, 'Arry," Hagrid said, sounding like a jovial thunderclap. "An' yer Malfoy friend, too." He gave Draco a suspicious glance before turning to Ron. "Who's this?"

"I'm Ron," said the Gryffindor.

"A Weasley, eh?" Hagrid shook his head. "Don't yeh go into the Forbidden Forest; I spent half me life chasin' yer brothers away from there."

Ron looked like he'd as soon go into the Forbidden Forest as he would jump off the castle roof.

"How're yeh findin' Hogwarts, 'Arry?" Hagrid asked as the three of them sipped their tea and covertly slipped their rock buns to Fang, his boarhound.

Harry told him all about his lessons and how he made the Quidditch team.

"And it's all because he saved Scabbers," Ron added proudly. "Poor Scabbers; he hasn't been the same since. He hides under my pillow most of the time."

"You let the rat _sleep in your bed_?" Draco looked and sounded utterly repulsed. "I suppose you must be used to spending your life around vermin, but sleeping with one?"

"Scabbers isn't vermin! He's my pet!"

"'Ow's yer brother, Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron, interrupting the brewing argument.

Ron immediately launched into an anecdote involving Charlie, a careless tourist, and a talking dragon that didn't actually talk. Hagrid roared with laughter and even Draco looked unwillingly amused. Harry listened at first, but quickly got distracted when he noticed the writing on a bit of paper lying on the table.

 _GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

Someone broke into Gringotts? But Hagrid had said no one in their right mind would do that.

His curiosity piqued, Harry read the rest of the article. 31 July? That happened on his birthday! In fact, it happened on the day he and Hagrid were in Gringotts! _Nothing was taken… vault was emptied…_ Wait a minute.

"What's that?" Draco finally noticed what he was reading. She scanned the article. "Oh, it's just about that break-in."

"It happened on my birthday," Harry said slowly, putting two and two together. "Hagrid took something out of a vault, the vault had been emptied that day…"

"And there's something dangerous on the third floor," Draco finished.

The two Slytherins looked at each other, then at the oblivious Gryffindor and gamekeeper.

"We could go to the third floor and just peek through the door," Harry suggested.

"Absolutely not. What are you, a Gryffindor?" Harry felt rather offended. Draco turned to Hagrid. "This paper says someone broke into Gringotts on Harry's birthday. Isn't it fortunate that someone emptied the vault earlier that day?"

Hagrid paled and reddened in quick succession. "Now you keep your nose out of that! It 'as nothin' to do with yeh."

Harry and Ron both gaped at her.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron demanded.

Draco smiled sweetly. "Nothing you need to worry about, Weasley."

Harry waited until Ron spotted some of his Gryffindor friends on the walk back to the castle and went to join them. Then he confronted Draco.

"Why did you do that? Now you've warned Hagrid and he'll move whatever's on the third floor! We'll never solve the mystery!"

"Hagrid won't move what's on the third floor. Dumbledore would have to do that, and why should Hagrid tell him that a first year commented on the newspaper? He'll have forgotten all about it by tonight." Draco didn't even try to keep the disdain out of her voice. "As for why I did it, you don't belong in Slytherin if you can't think of at least one reason."

Harry thought for a moment. "To see what his reaction was?"

She smiled. "You might make a proper Slytherin yet."

Only as he sat down on the side of his bed (after checking for any of Theo's specimens) did he realise she hadn't exactly answered his question.

* * *

Dinner the next day brought a flock of owls delivering post. This was normal. Six owls bearing a broomstick-shaped package and a note descended on Harry. This was not.

"What's that?" Millie asked, leaning over the table and almost planting her hand in Blaise's lasagne.

Draco rolled her eyes. "What do you think it is? A set of quills, perhaps?"

Harry ignored them in favour of opening the note.

 _DO NOT OPEN AT THE TABLE,_ it read in block capitals.

 _This was all Flint's idea. If you fall off your new broom and break your neck, blame him._

 _S. Snape_

Harry grinned and looked up at the staff table, hoping to catch Snape's eye. The Professor was looking at him, but suddenly became very interested in his plate. Professor Quirrell was saying something to him, apparently unaware that he wasn't even listening. Harry didn't blame Snape; Slytherin had their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson on Wednesday. Calling it a joke was an understatement. Quirrell stuttered too much!

Harry wolfed down the rest of his food and fled to the dormitory, new broom in hand.

It was a Nimbus Two-Thousand, and Harry could tell simply by looking at it that it was vastly superior to the school brooms he'd used before. He stared at it with something akin to reverence.

"What model is it?" Theo demanded, barging into the dormitory. Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle followed him. Draco and Millie stayed just outside the doorway.

Blaise's eyes bugged out. "That's a Nimbus Two-Thousand! That's the best broom yet!"

"Try it out now!" Theo pleaded.

Harry picked up the broom with the same sort of care you'd show when holding a newborn baby and started towards the door. His eyes fell on the clock and he groaned.

"Sorry, can't try it now or I'll be late."

"Late for what?" Draco called after him as he raced out of the room, leaving his broom propped against the wall.

* * *

Only Minerva's watchful presence kept Remus from pacing up and down the length of the staff room. Where was Harry? Had something happened?

His worries proved groundless when an out-of-breath Harry burst into the room.

"H'lo, Mr. Lupin, h'lo, Pr'fessor," he panted. "Am I late?"

"You certainly wouldn't receive any compliments for your punctuality," Minerva replied dryly, "but don't worry. I've never yet met an eleven-year-old boy who was on time for anything but meals."

She gave Remus an arch look that made him redden as he remembered a few occasions when he and his friends had most definitely not been on time.

"Hello, Harry," Remus said, trying to forget that time in fourth year when James was so busy kissing a Ravenclaw girl in the hall that he didn't even realise he was late for class and ended up being transfigured into a tea-cosy. The Marauders treated Minerva with a great deal more respect after that. "Is it true that you made the Quidditch team?"

He knew it was true since Minerva and Snape both told him, Minerva looking like it was the end of the world (it probably was as far as Gryffindor's chances at the House Cup went) and Snape grinning like the Cheshire cat, but he wanted to hear about it from Harry himself.

Harry grinned and launched into the story of how he saved Ron's rat, caught the Snitch, and now had a brand new Nimbus Two-Thousand in his dormitory.

"You did a Wronski Feint the first time you flew? Your father would be green with envy!" James hadn't done a Wronski Feint until he was in third year. Remus remembered the incident vividly because Peter did his best to crush his hand as they watched.

"Was he a Seeker too?" Harry asked eagerly.

"No, a Chaser."

"He won the House Cup for Gryffindor three years running," McGonagall added. "He has a plaque in the trophy room for it."

Something raced past the half-closed door. Remus saw it out of the corner of his eye and frowned. That looked like young Miss Malfoy. Was she going to be a permanent fixture of all his meetings with Harry?

"I brought some of your parents' photo albums," Remus said, gesturing to the albums strewn over the sofa. "Do you want to look at them now?"

He needn't have asked. Harry was already looking at them as if they were the greatest thing since heating charms.

* * *

" _Alohomora_ ," Draco whispered.

The door unlocked with a click. She pushed it open and peeked inside. A minute later she drew back and relocked the door, looking frightened, thoughtful, and angry all at once.

Whatever was in that Gringotts vault must be very important. Why else would there be a Cerberus in the school?

* * *

 _Dear Father,_

 _Dumbledore is keeping a Cerberus in the school. I stumbled across it by accident and it tried to eat me. Please, tell the other Governors or go straight to the Minister himself, but get it out of here!_

Draco didn't bother to sign her name. She had no intention of sending the letter… yet.

* * *

Harry found Draco waiting outside the Slytherin portrait hole.

"I want a word with you," she said without preamble.

He followed her to a stretch of the hallway where there were no portraits.

"What's-" he began.

"The third floor is forbidden because there's a Cerberus on it."

Cerberus? What was that? And how did Draco even know about it when she'd been so determined not to go anywhere near the third floor?

"What's a Cerberus?"

Draco sighed in a very put-upon way. "A Cerberus is a three-headed dog. Even someone raised by Muggles should know that. They're very dangerous."

"Then why's it here?" Harry might not be an expert on the Wizarding world yet, but surely it wasn't normal to have a dangerous creature in a school? Wait. It was a sort of dog, and dangerous dogs were used to guard things… He fitted the pieces of the puzzle together. "It's guarding the thing Hagrid took from Gringotts!"

Draco scowled fiercely. "I want you to promise me not to go anywhere near the third floor."

Harry didn't particularly want to meet a three-headed, very dangerous dog. He'd had enough trouble with Aunt Marge's one-headed dogs. "I promise."

"You do?" He'd never seen Draco look so bewildered. She recovered after a moment and immediately acted as if she wasn't the slightest bit perturbed. "Good. Given how Gryffindorish you can be, I thought you might want to run off and find it at once."

"I'm not stupid," Harry grumbled. "Why would I go anywhere near a dangerous dog that can bite off my arms, legs and head all at once?"

* * *

Well. That was unexpected. She hadn't even had to threaten him with sending the letter to her father to make him promise!

Draco tossed the letter in the Slytherin fireplace. Harry was enough of a Gryffindor to keep his promise, so she had no need of it anymore.

She returned to her dormitory, entertaining hopes that the rest of the term would be peaceful now there was no danger of Harry dying by Cerberus.

She didn't even notice Pansy sitting in a corner with a History of Magic textbook, watching her through narrowed eyes. As soon as the dormitory door closed, Pansy darted over to the fireplace and Summoned the letter. It was charred, but still legible.

So, Malfoy knew the Headmaster was keeping a dangerous dog in the school but didn't see fit to inform the Board of Governors? This could provide excellent blackmail material.

* * *

Severus did not like visiting people. He especially did not like visiting people with far too many children. Minerva knew this, so he could only assume she'd been deliberately cruel when she volunteered him to accompany Potter to the Weasleys'. And just to add to his bad mood, the brat was late.

He stalked over to his office door, ready to storm down to the Slytherin common room, find Potter, and drag him to the nearest Floo. He opened the door… and there was Potter. Only years of experience as a spy kept Severus from showing any surprise.

"There you are," he snapped. "Have you no regard for the time? Being late to dinner will not make a good impression on the Weasleys."

"Sorry, sir," Potter said, sounding as contrite as possible while out of breath. "I was trying out my new broom. Thank you so much for it, sir, it's-"

"Potter! Be quiet!" Severus could feel a headache starting already, and they weren't even at the Weasleys' yet. "Stand in front of the fireplace."

Potter obliged without question. Severus spared a moment to be grateful for small mercies.

"Take a handful of the powder in that jar, throw it in the fire, step into the fireplace, and say, "The Burrow". Do _not_ stumble!"

"Yes, sir." The brat followed his orders exactly and vanished in a whirl of green flames.

* * *

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and came face-to-face with a red-haired girl of about ten.

"Hello," he said with an awkward smile. "Are you Ginny?"

"MUM!" the girl yelled. Harry wouldn't have thought it possible for someone so small (she was about the same height as him, but Ron referred to her as his "little" sister so much that Harry thought of her as "little" as well) to make such a loud noise. "HE'S HERE!"

Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room, followed by Ron, the twins, Percy, and three people Harry didn't recognise. One must be Mr. Weasley, and the other two must be Ron's oldest brothers, the ones who'd left school.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley gave him a hug. "How are you?"

"Hello, Harry!" said one of the twins. "Is it-"

"-true that you've-"

"-got a new broom?" the two of them finished together.

Harry started to tell them about how wonderful his new broom was when the fire turned green and Professor Snape stepped into the room. He took one look at the multitude of redheads and groaned.

"Hello, Severus!" Mr. Weasley said cheerfully. "Have the twins given you any more bother?"

The professor's reply was lost in the sudden uproar. Ron brought his rat home with him for the dinner, and through the open door leading to the kitchen Mrs. Weasley caught sight of it creeping up the table leg.

"RONALD!" she bellowed, making it clear which side of the family Ginny's lung capacity came from. "GET THAT FILTHY ANIMAL AWAY FROM OUR DINNER!"

In the ensuing confusion, the twins came up to Harry wearing identical grins. Harry felt like a rabbit caught in a snare.

"Rumour has it-"

"-that ickle Harrykins-"

"-has a bet that-"

"-he needs some help winning." As usual, the twins said a sentence apiece and both chimed in for the final sentence.

"How'd you hear that?" Harry asked, surprised. Surely Ron hadn't told them; he'd known it might cause trouble.

Their grins got even wider.

"You'd be amazed-"

"-what a little piece of paper-"

"-can help you do."

What had paper to do with anything?

It was obvious he wouldn't get a straight answer from them, so Harry settled for saying, "Do you want to help?"

"I don't know, Fred," said one of them. Knowing them, it was probably Fred. "Think we should help a firstie break the rules?"

"That would be setting a truly awful example," agreed the other (George?) with a wicked smirk. "So what are we waiting for?"


	11. Chapter 11: Harry Wins the Bet

**A/N: Christmas is a writer's worst enemy. Between shopping, sending cards, searching for the wrapping paper, deciding it's all gone and buying more, then discovering three full rolls in the cupboard, I hardly had any time to write.**

 **In response to reviewer The Riddle Writer: honestly, I don't entirely like my characterisation of Harry either. It's one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time, but a day later became "what was I thinking?"**

 **This is a shorter chapter than usual because I wanted to finish it before Tuesday.**

 **Merry Christmas to everyone who takes the time to read this!**

* * *

 **Chapter 11: In Which Harry Wins the Bet and Wishes He Hadn't**

 _Be careful what you wish for; you'll probably get it. -_ **Proverb**

Harry liked the Weasleys. The two oldest boys, Bill and Charlie, had fascinating stories to tell about their respective jobs, Percy's pompousness was always good for a laugh, Mr. Weasley had all sorts of extraordinary questions about Muggle life, and Ginny proved to be as much a Quidditch fan as Ron. His opinion of the twins hovered around "most terrifying beings on Earth", but they gave him an idea for how to win his bet with Draco, so for the moment they were all right. And then of course, there was Mrs. Weasley, who scolded Ron's stupidity in touching a hot saucepan even as she fetched ice for his hand.

Professor Snape looked incredibly annoyed about something throughout the visit. Harry hoped whatever was making the professor so angry wasn't his fault. His Potions marks hadn't been _that_ bad, had they?

"Mum, can we play Quidditch?" Ginny asked after dinner.

"As long as you're in before nightfall," Mrs. Weasley said after looking out the window.

"We've a Quidditch pitch behind the house," Ron explained in an undertone, seeing Harry's surprise.

His words brought to mind an enormous open field with seats for spectators, just like at Hogwarts, which baffled Harry. The Weasleys' home wasn't half the size of Hogwarts; how could it have a Quidditch pitch?

Then the younger Weasleys (with Charlie in tow) led him to the Quidditch pitch, and he understood. It wasn't a full-sized Quidditch pitch; it was a field with a miniature goal post at one end and not a seat in sight.

"Ron and Ginny will be Chasers, and Harry will be Seeker, won't you, Harry?" Charlie asked, trying to sort out the positions.

"And then-"

"-we'll know exactly-"

"-how to beat him-"

"in next month's match," the twins chorused, sporting identical smirks.

Harry immediately decided to play as badly as possible tonight so they'd be lulled into a sense of false security.

The game still wasn't over when Mrs. Weasley threw open the back door.

"Boys! Ginny! Stop playing now! It's time for Harry to go back to Hogwarts."

Harry landed and handed his borrowed broom over to Charlie, feeling oddly sad. Ron and the twins would stay the night at the Burrow, so he'd have no one to help him practice the spell the twins told him. Something told him neither Draco nor Neville would be in a great hurry to help with that. A new worry began to nag at him. Whether he won the bet or not, would he ever get to visit the Weasleys again? Would they think he was a troublemaker and a bad influence?

Considering the twins and their tricks, it was extremely unlikely he could be any more of a bad influence on Ron than they were, but parents tended to excuse their own children things they'd criticise other children for doing. The Dursleys were an excellent example of that. Would the Weasleys be like that too?

Professor Snape waited by the fireplace, looking both impatient to be gone and relieved that they were finally leaving. The Professor must be one of those people who hated visiting.

"Harry, I've something to give you before you go," Mr. Weasley said, handing him a… photo album? "I don't know if you know this, but your parents were in the Order of the Phoenix with us, and we were at their wedding. These are some pictures of them."

Harry hardly heard a word of what he said. He stared at the picture on the front of the album with the sort of wonder usually reserved for seeing a priceless artefact. It was of a large group of people, younger versions of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley among them, and in the middle were his parents.

He stood looking through the album in silence until Professor Snape cleared his throat.

"The Weasleys have given you a present; what does common courtesy oblige you to do?"

Harry, brought back to reality with a jolt, turned bright red when he realised what he'd forgotten. The Weasleys might think him horribly ungrateful for not thanking them before. "Thank you for letting me see this, Mr. Weasley!"

He tried to hand it back to Mr. Weasley, who shook his head. "It's yours, Harry."

"But it's not my birthday," Harry pointed out, confused. Why would they give him such a brilliant present when it wasn't his birthday?

"Think of it as a late birthday present," Mrs. Weasley said, dabbing at her suspiciously-wet eyes.

Harry looked at the album again, then at the Weasleys. He tried to say something, anything, but there was something lodged in his throat and he couldn't get the words past it. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Potter! Do you intend to stay the night?" Professor Snape barked.

* * *

Harry sat down on the dormitory windowsill and stared reverently at the photos on the first page. One showed his parents on their wedding day. His mother looked so beautiful in her white dress, and his father would have looked remarkably handsome if his robes didn't have a bright pink lining. The best man, who Harry thought looked vaguely familiar, kept glancing at said pink lining and exchanging mischievous grins with a young Remus Lupin.

Harry suspected those robes had no pink on them when his father bought them.

The next few pictures were also of the wedding. Both his parents seemed to have noticed his father's wardrobe renovation by then, because there wasn't a hint of pink to be seen on his robes and he kept shooting half-annoyed, half-amused looks at the best man, Remus, and the person Remus called "Peter Pettigrew". His mother outright glared at them when she wasn't smiling at the camera. Harry noted his father pretended to have his arm around her waist, but he was actually keeping a firm grip on her wand hand (and coming in for a share of the glares, which didn't seem to bother him).

He turned the page, and suddenly the pictures all showed a little baby. The baby slept peacefully, crawled around a room, played with toys, pulled his mother's hair, tried to steal his father's glasses, was cooed over by Remus and Mr. Pettigrew, and tossed into the air by the best man.

That last photo was Harry's favourite, because although the baby – and that was _him_ ; he was the little baby, and wasn't that just strange to think of? – took being airborne very calmly, and the best man hadn't noticed a thing, his mother stormed towards them in the background of the picture, with a look on her face that would strike terror into the bravest man's heart.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

Harry jumped, almost dropping the photo album. It was only Theo, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"You aren't asleep either," he pointed out.

"You woke me up with all that giggling," the other boy groused. "What's so funny?"

"I wasn't giggling," Harry said, offended at the very idea. "Only girls giggle. I was laughing."

Theo rolled his eyes. "Why were you laughing?"

"This photo."

Theo sat down next to him and looked at the photo. He grinned. "I almost feel sorry for him; she looks like she's going to hex him to splinters, _Incendio_ the pieces, and turn what's left into soap. Who are they?"

"I don't know who he is," said Harry, pointing at the best man, "but that's me, and that's my mother."

Theo looked at the picture again. " _That's_ your mother? But she's _pretty_! Mother said Muggleborns are horrible, wizened old hags – Er, no offense, I didn't mean it that way-"

Harry glared at Theo. "Has your mother ever met a Muggleborn?"

"Probably not," the other boy admitted.

"But _you_ have. Hermione's a Muggleborn, and she's not a "horrible, wizened old hag", and that Hufflepuff girl you couldn't take your eyes off during Defence is a Muggleborn-"

"I was looking at her hair!" Theo protested. "I've never seen anyone with blue hair before!"

"You stared at her through the entire lesson."

"…Her clothes were interesting, too."

"She was wearing a school uniform just like everyone else!"

Theo gave it up and returned to the original subject. "All right, Mother's wrong, I'm an idiot, satisfied now?"

Harry accepted it as the only sort of apology he was likely to get. "Yes."

* * *

Halloween marched ever nearer. A swarm of butterflies took up residence in Harry's chest. He was running out of time to win his bet, and the more he thought about it, the more he felt sure the safest, wisest course of action was to concede it and give Draco the hundred Galleons.

"You can't just give in!" said Ron. "She'll never let you live it down! The twins won't, either!"

The mention of the twins was far more frightening than the mention of Draco. Fred and George took it upon themselves to teach Harry a Sticking charm to keep him in place and a charm of their own invention which stopped water getting into something, in this case a cauldron. They'd even provided one of their cauldrons for him to use. Harry had no doubt that if he didn't put their teaching to good use, they'd use a few other spells in their extensive repertoire to thoroughly humiliate him.

"All right, I'll do it," he said. "How about tomorrow night? The teachers are having some sort of meeting then; Professor Snape mentioned it this morning."

* * *

The next night, Harry, Draco and Ron traipsed down to the lake as quietly as possible. The boys carried a cauldron between them. Draco carried a non-magical broomstick for Harry to use as an oar.

Harry cast the charm the twins invented on the cauldron, turned it upside down, and climbed onto it. He tried very hard not to think about what he was doing and how many things could go wrong. He tried even harder not to think about how many strange and bizarre potions the twins might have brewed in this cauldron. If there was any residue of said potions left in the cauldron, and if he hadn't cast that charm properly…

Just to complicate things, he had a headache. He got a headache every time he saw Professor Quirrell, and they never went away quickly.

"Now remember," said Draco, sounding remarkably like Hermione, "you just have to go out to that rock-" she pointed to a small rock jutting out of the water a foot or so from the shore "-and come back."

"You won't drown even if you fall off," Ron added helpfully.

"Thanks for cheering me up," Harry grumbled.

He climbed onto the cauldron, cast the Sticking charm, and paddled away. The cauldron swayed alarmingly. Harry discovered in less than a minute that even Sticking charms didn't keep you from getting wet when the cauldron tilted so far to the side you were half-sitting in the water.

He reached the rock. The chances of him turning the cauldron around without capsizing were miniscule at best, so he simply paddled backward.

"A little to the left," Ron called to him.

"Not _that_ far to the left!" Draco sounded highly insulted, as if his inability to see where he was going was a personal affront.

"A bit to the right – a bit further-"

Harry followed their instruction as best he could. The cauldron ground to a halt as the water became too shallow. He cancelled the Sticking charm and jumped off. Ron ran to help him pick up the cauldron.

"That was brilliant!" the Gryffindor shouted, forgetting they were supposed to keep quiet.

"WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?"

All three first years froze. They turned as one to face the newcomer, and Harry's stomach plummeted to approximately the level of his feet.

It was Professor Snape.

* * *

"Ah'm tellin' yeh, Perfesser, it looks like a wil' animal killin' 'em!" Hagrid insisted.

"But no wild animal would attack a unicorn," said Professor Sinistra.

"A Dark creature might," Minerva pointed out.

"I fear it is something far worse than a Dark creature," Albus said gravely.

The other teachers fell silent as his words sank in.

"Y-y-y-you d-d-d-don't m-m-m-mean-" Quirrell began, his stutter even worse than usual.

The door flew open and Severus stormed in, followed by three terrified first years.

Minerva looked at them in a mixture of surprise and resignation. When Severus said he had to check something, she'd thought he meant a potion. Apparently not.

It _would_ be those three, of course. What had they done this time? Surely they hadn't gone near Fluffy again? Her sharp eyes took in their appearance. What on Earth? Weasley looked defiant and Malfoy looked miserable. That was a surprising development; normally it was the other way round. Why was Potter so wet?

"What happened?" asked Filius, voicing everyone's thoughts.

"I have a ward set on the Slytherin common room which warns me when anyone in my House leaves after curfew," Severus began. "It also warns me when anyone in my House is not back by curfew. Mr. Potter and Miss Malfoy triggered it. I found them – and Mr. Weasley – by the lake, apparently setting a cauldron adrift."

 _What_? Minerva stared at the three miscreants. Why in Merlin's name would they set a cauldron adrift? A protest against Potions lessons, perhaps?

"Mr. Weasley," she said.

Weasley's defiant expression faltered.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked with politeness worthy of Percy.

"Would you enlighten us as to why you did something so foolish?"

Getting answers out of those three was like pulling teeth the Muggle way. Gryffindor stubbornness and Slytherin slyness – and in Potter's case, both – were used to great effect in the attempt to (ahem) weasel out of being punished. Finally the teachers had the whole story.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and a hundred points from Slytherin," Severus said as soon as they finished. The other teachers' eyebrows shot up. Severus Snape, taking points from Slytherin? "Since you like cauldrons so much, you can spend your evenings for the next week cleaning them."

* * *

Draco was not happy. She was annoyed and embarrassed because she lost the bet, mortified because she angered her godfather enough to make him take points from Slytherin for the first time since his appointment to Head of Slytherin, and an unidentifiable feeling wormed its way into her chest when she thought of all those times the cauldron almost toppled over with Harry Stuck to it. It felt suspiciously like fear and guilt.

She dealt with that feeling by ignoring it. Malfoys did not feel guilt.

Now she had detention. That would make a nice story to tell her parents in her next letter.

" _Dear Mother and Father, I did something spectacularly stupid and now I'm serving detention. Weather is awful. Sincerely, Draco."_

Maybe she should write a letter like that, just to imagine the looks on her parents' faces when they read it.

On second thoughts, amusing as that mental picture was, it wasn't worth getting a Howler.

Harry kept shooting glances at her out of the corner of his eye as they trekked down to the Slytherin common room. Draco ignored him.

"Uhm, Draco…" Harry began. He paused. "About the bet… You don't actually have to give me eighty Galleons."

Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to face him. "Are you implying I won't keep my word?"

"No! I didn't mean it that way! It's just… Your parents might not like you giving me that much money, and I don't want you to get in trouble."

A second unidentifiable feeling joined the first one. She couldn't give any sort of name to this one; it simply felt… warm.

"My parents would let me give you eight hundred Galleons if I lost a bet, and then tell me it was my own fault for making a bet I might lose in the first place," Draco said flatly.

Harry pursed his lips in thought. "I don't _need_ eighty Galleons, so would you mind if I gave them to someone else?"

"The moment I give you them, they're yours to do with as you please," Draco pointed out. A suspicion took root in her mind. "Who do you intend to give them to?"

Harry smiled innocently, and Draco's suspicions doubled. "I can't tell you; it'll be a Christmas present."

Oh, for the love of Morgana, was he going to give _her_ money to the blood traitors?

Draco imagined her parents' reactions to that and winced. Maybe she'd leave a few things out of her next letter.

"Come on, Draco! Professor Snape told us to be in the common room before eleven! We'll be late!" Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her down the corridor.

Draco followed him, trying to figure out why she hadn't objected to a half-blood touching her unnecessarily when she'd heard from Grandmother Drusilla and Aunt Bella all her life about how half-bloods and Muggleborns were unworthy to even be in the same room as a pureblood.

Maybe she'd leave a lot of things out of her next letter.

* * *

It was Halloween before three decidedly unhappy first years finished detention. Snape's week of detention was followed by another three days with Professor McGonagall.

"If you do anything to earn detention again," McGonagall warned them as they filed out of her classroom, "you'll have it with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest."

Hermione found Harry and Ron in the library.

"Well, I hope you're proud of yourselves," the Ravenclaw said in an unbearably bossy tone. "Do you have any idea how stupid you were? You could have drowned!"

Ron's temper flared.

"Shut up!" he yelled at her, oblivious to Madam Pince's glare. "You can't tell us what to do! No wonder everyone hates you!"

Hermione's lip trembled. For a moment Harry thought she might burst into tears. But no, she simply stormed past them and out the door.

Harry felt uneasy about letting her go without apologising, but those thoughts were chased out of his mind as Madam Pince descended on them and threw them out.

Oh well, they could apologise when they next saw Hermione.


	12. Chapter 12: What Happened on Halloween

**A/N: I hope everyone had a very merry Christmas, even if you don't celebrate it, and here's hoping you have a great New Year :D**

 **I** _ **almost**_ **missed the Tuesday deadline, mostly because my house was hit by the power cuts plaguing the country and it's hard to write when you're sitting in pitch darkness :( This chapter was supposed to be longer and include Harry's first real Quidditch match, but I had to cut it short because I never knew when the power would go. Next week I'll try to post a longer chapter by the deadline :)**

 **Chapter ten showed up all in bold too. What the hell's wrong with you, Fanfiction dot Net?**

* * *

 **Chapter 12: What Happened on Halloween**

 _The line between bravery and stupidity is so thin that you don't know you've crossed it until you're dead._ **\- Unknown**

Hermione was nowhere to be seen at the Halloween feast. A pang of conscience struck Harry. Had Ron's comments upset her that much?

"Why do you keep looking over at the Ravenclaws?" Blaise asked, fed up with speaking to him and being ignored.

"No reason." Harry gave the Ravenclaw table one last look before turning his attention to his housemates and the sweets on his plate.

The doors flew open with a resounding crash, interrupting Blaise's recitation of his many step-fathers and how they died. Quirrell, looking terrified out of his wits, rushed in.

"TROLL! IN THE DUNGEONS!" he shrieked, and promptly fainted.

The Great Hall erupted into uproar. Some of the students wanted to finish the feast and let the teachers deal with the troll, some (*cough*Gryffindors*cough*) wanted to go after the troll themselves, and most just panicked.

Slytherin table remained relatively calm despite all the confusion around them. The prefects stayed quiet and waited for Professor Snape to tell them what to do, and the others followed their lead.

Millie looked at the still-unconscious Quirrell in disgust. "He's the Defence professor and he can't even deal with a troll?"

Dumbledore stood up and conjured several firecrackers. Silence descended on the Great Hall.

"The teachers and I will deal with the troll," he said in a business-like tone. "Prefects, take the students back to their dormitories."

"For Merlin's sake-" Draco began indignantly. "Has he forgotten our dormitories are _in the dungeons_?"

"So are the Hufflepuffs'," Harry added.

Professors Snape and Sprout seemed to have realised this as well, because both were deep in discussion with Dumbledore. At last the Headmaster addressed the students again.

"It slipped my mind that two of the Houses would have to go into the dungeons to reach their dormitories, and so everyone will stay here. Professor Vector will stay to supervise."

Most of the teachers left. Professor Vector was immediately swarmed with worried students from all the houses.

"What if the troll gets in here?"

"What if the Professors can't get rid of it? Will we be stuck here until the Ministry sends someone to rescue us?"

"Don't be stupid; we'd have no way of letting the Ministry know because we've no owls with us. We'll be stuck here until we starve!"

"How did the troll get in?"

"I don't know, Miss Greengrass. Mr. Smith, don't be so silly. I assure you, Miss Patil, the Professors will be able to deal with it. No, Mr. Weasley, the troll won't get in here." Poor Professor Vector looked like she would rather face a troll single-handed than answer any more absurd questions.

Harry eyed the sweets still on his plate. He must have eaten too many, because his stomach felt like it was doing a series of world-class somersaults. He pushed his plate away. Crabbe and Goyle, who had eaten more than anyone else and whose appetites still weren't diminished, immediately helped themselves to the sweets on it.

"Harry!" Neville appeared at his elbow, out of breath and pale as a ghost. "Hermione's not here! The Ravenclaws say they haven't seen her for hours!"

A block of ice immediately formed around Harry's chest. "The troll!"

* * *

"This is madness," Millie protested as she traipsed after Harry and Neville. "Trolls like to eat human children, you know!"

"Which is why we have to find Hermione before it does!" Neville called over his shoulder as he ran ahead.

Harry couldn't understand it. He didn't think Neville and Hermione were particularly close, and the Hufflepuff was usually scared of his own shadow. So why was he in such a hurry when a troll could be lurking around the next corner?

The three first years rounded a corner and found themselves down the corridor from the girls' bathroom. A distant thud-thud noise echoed down the hall and a truly atrocious smell hit them like a solid wall.

"For the love of Morgana, what is that?" Millie gasped, covering her nose.

The troll appeared at the far end of the hall, dragging an enormous club behind it. Every time it took a step forward, the club knocked against the floor. That explained the sound.

"I'm sorry I asked."

They stood rooted to the spot as the troll sniffed the air and thud-thud-thudded its way over to the girls' bathroom.

"If it goes in there, we could lock it in," Harry whispered.

Sure enough, the troll went into the bathroom. Harry set off for the door at a run.

He was half-way there when a shrill, terrified scream pierced the air.

* * *

Severus swept down the hallway towards the pitifully-inadequate door keeping Fluffy cut off from the rest of the school. He, unlike his colleagues, refused to rush off after a troll and leave a certain much sought after object essentially unprotected. He didn't consider the dog much protection when any idiot with a musical instrument or even a large, juicy steak could get past it.

He'd always known Hagrid was in dire need of a Wit Sharpening potion or a hundred, but calling that thing _Fluffy_ should warrant an immediate mental health assessment. So should keeping it in a school at all. And as for what it was guarding, _that_ should be locked in a box within twenty other boxes, thrown in the deepest part of the sea, guarded by sea serpents, kraken, merfolk, kelpies and water dragons, and put under the Fidelus. Even then it might not be safe from a certain Dark Lord who refused to accept he was dead. It had absolutely no business sitting in a school guarded by pathetically-easy-to-circumvent traps, just waiting for someone smart enough to come along and waltz off with it.

Was Dumbledore trying to ensure it got stolen?

He pulled the door open. Fluffy lunged at him, all three sets of jaws snapping.

Severus leapt back and slammed the door shut. Well, at least he knew no one had tried to get past that thing; it would have been too busy chewing on their corpse to notice him.

He turned to leave when an agonising pain in his leg hit him like the Hogwarts Express at full speed and he stumbled.

Damn it. His reflexes clearly needed sharpening if he couldn't even dodge an overgrown dog. His observational skills needed even more sharpening if he hadn't noticed the bite on his leg, which was bleeding freely and creating a small bloody puddle on the stone floor.

One of the benefits of being a spy, and a paranoid spy at that, was that he'd learned long ago to keep a supply of every potion he could think of that he might need. He _Scourgify_ -ed the wound and searched his pockets for a Pain Relief potion and something to use as a bandage.

The sound of running footsteps resounded down the hallway. Severus immediately drew his wand. It was too much to expect the newcomer could be one of his competent colleagues. No, it just had to be the stuttering, turban-wearing, garlic-scented Quirrell. His presence set alarm bells ringing in Severus's mind. What was he doing up here? He should be helping the other teachers deal with the troll.

Quirrell finally noticed him. "S-S-Severus! I t-t-thought the y-y-you-know-w-w-w-what might be in d-d-danger so I came t-t-to check on i-i-it."

Now there was an unconvincing excuse if ever there was one (and considering some of the excuses certain imbecilic students came up with, that was saying something).

"How thoughtful of you," Severus said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fortunately, I had the same thought, and I can assure you that you are the only person I have seen near here."

Quirrell stammered something incomprehensible as he turned to leave.

Then an angry troll roared on the floor below, and a child screamed.

* * *

Draco scowled as she surveyed the Great Hall. No sign of Harry, Millicent or even that obnoxiously-nervous Hufflepuff. Had they left before Dumbledore amended his first order? No, she was sure she'd seen Harry after that. Surely they hadn't been stupid enough to go after the troll?

She got up and made her way over to where Marcus Flint and the other prefects were holding a whispered discussion.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Prefect Brisen Ollerton asked.

"Potter and Bulstrode are missing."

The prefects exchanged looks.

"We should tell Professor Snape," Belphoebe Bulstrode, Millicent's cousin, said worriedly.

"We can't; he's with the other professors," Flint snapped. "Didn't you listen?"

Draco left them to argue it out. The good thing about Slytherins was that in less than five minutes they would have a feasible plan. Hufflepuffs would do nothing but stand around looking worried, Ravenclaws would debate for hours over every possible variable, and Gryffindors would charge ahead without planning at all then spend a century blaming someone else for the inevitable disaster, but Slytherins thought everything through carefully and quickly.

* * *

Harry charged into the bathroom without checking to see if the other two followed. He promptly realised his mistake. The troll was even bigger up close than he'd thought, it was smashing its club through the cubicles, and the only spell Harry could think of was "Wingardium Leviosa".

He backed towards the door. The troll noticed his movement, turned its head and stared right at him.

He had just enough time to think, _Oh no_ , before it took a swing at his head.

 _You escaped Dudley hundreds of times; you can escape this too,_ he thought in an effort to encourage himself.

It didn't work. Compared to a huge, angry troll intent on eating him, Dudley was a mildly bad-tempered toddler.

His accidental magic kicked in when he needed to get away from Dudley; surely it would help him now too?

Harry scrambled out of the way of flying bricks. Neville and Millie appeared in the doorway. Neville squeaked when he saw the troll. Millie looked like she might faint. Then she gathered her courage and sent a Stinging Hex at the troll.

Trolls were immune to many spells. A Stinging Hex in the eye wasn't one of them. The troll dropped its club and staggered back with an anguished roar, rubbing its eye.

Hermione crawled out of one of the still-intact cubicles, her hair ever messier than usual, her face streaked with tears, and her robes covered with dust. The troll was still distracted by the volley of Stinging Hexes Millie hurled at it every time it took its hand away from its eyes. Neville came to her assistance by throwing bricks and pieces of debris at it.

Harry grabbed the Ravenclaw's hand and pulled her towards the door.

"Let's get out of here!" he yelled over the noise of the troll's roars.

Neville paused long enough to pull the door as far shut as he could before the troll recovered. Then the four first years fled.

A tremendous crash behind them warned them the troll was after them.

"This way!" Hermione shouted, leading them down the hall leading to the library. "We can hide in the library!"

Neville looked back and screamed.

It's very odd, but when someone screams, everyone who hears the scream is seized by the desire to run towards the scream, or at least look to see why they screamed. Common sense and self-preservation would suggest a wiser course of action would be getting as far away as possible, but in almost every case curiosity overrules common sense.

The other three looked back too, just in time to see the troll raise its club.

" _Sectumsepra_!"

A bloody gash opened in the troll's arm. It grunted and dropped the club in favour of clutching its arm.

The four children turned to see who cast the spell. Professor Snape stormed towards them. Not even when he caught them after the bet had Harry seen him look so furious.

* * *

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"

Harry wished the floor would open and swallow him. Spending the rest of his life in the castle cellars would be better than facing Professor Snape in a rage.

Dumbledore and the other teachers were removing the troll, the other students were now safely ensconced in their common rooms, and the first years found themselves at the mercy of the Head of Slytherin's temper.

"We had to rescue Hermione, sir," said Neville in a voice barely above a whisper.

The Professor sneered at him. "And, I suppose, it never occurred to you to inform Professor Vector? Or at the very least to tell a Prefect? Don't you realise how much danger you were in? That creature would have torn you to shreds and eaten the pieces!"

Hermione piped up. "It was my fault, sir. I thought I could deal with the troll myself because I've read about them."

Harry, Neville and Millie abandoned their study of the floor to gape at her. Hermione Granger, the goody-two-shoes of Hogwarts, telling a lie? And such an obviously flawed lie, at that?

Professor Snape stared at her for a moment. Then he scowled even more fiercely than before. "One hundred points from Ravenclaw for trying to lie to a teacher. As for the rest of you, fifty points from Hufflepuff for not asking adult advice and twenty-five points from Slytherin for behaving in a Gryffindorish manner." He paused, looking at Millie. "Twenty points to Slytherin for a well-cast Stinging Hex."

Millie brightened up. Harry winced. It wasn't fair that Hermione lost so many points when she was just trying to help, but he wouldn't try to argue while Snape was in this mood. He might lose another twenty-five points.

"Now get back to your common rooms, all of you. And don't think this is the end of the matter."

* * *

The end of the matter? That was scarcely the beginning. When Professor Sprout heard of the danger Neville put himself in to save Hermione, she awarded a hundred points even as she gave him a week's detention with Hagrid. Professor McGonagall gave everyone involved five points each and another week's detention. And the vast majority of Slytherins ignored Harry and Millie's existence because they dared to act without thinking. Even Draco, Theo and Blaise were more distant and reserved.

"Yeh were right ter save yer friend, 'Arry," Hagrid told him as Harry and Neville dug up the garden in search of some sort of worm Hagrid was sure had helped itself to most of his pumpkins, "but yeh shouldn' 'ave rushed in like that. Them mountain trolls are dangerous."

Harry thought that if _Hagrid_ called them dangerous, they must be _very_ dangerous.

* * *

"You won't have detention tonight because of the Quidditch match, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape told Harry at breakfast a week after the troll incident. "Instead your detention will last a day longer than your friends'. I warn you, if you put yourself in any unnecessary danger during today's match, you'll be banned from Quidditch for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts."

Harry shuddered. He was already in disgrace with the rest of Slytherin; he'd die of humiliation if he was banned from Quidditch.

"Don't worry," Draco said in what might be sarcasm or an attempt at reassurance; it was hard to tell. "Only three people have died during Quidditch matches this century. Compared to fighting a troll, you'll be in no danger on the pitch."

"Thanks a lot," Harry said dryly.

Still, she was right. He was a good flyer; how much danger could he be in during Quidditch?


	13. Chapter 13: The Out-of-Control Broom

**A/N: The "chapters in bold" thing seems to have stopped. Hurray!**

 **A note about the members of the Slytherin team: Ms. Rowling only named a few of them and I can't find the names of the others, so if you don't recognise a name, it's because I invented it. Can't just refer to them as "that guy or girl whose name Harry never bothered to learn" after all :P**

 **I said the next chapter would be an extra-long one, and here it is. I hope you've all had a good 2016 so far :D**

* * *

 **Chapter 13: The Out-Of-Control Broom**

… _They were also slightly less intelligent than he was. This is a quality you should always pray for in your would-be murderer._ **– Terry Pratchett,** _ **Men at Arms**_

Gregory Goyle ushered in the day of the match with a piercing shriek that woke the whole dormitory. The wonder was it didn't wake the whole House, if not the whole castle. It jolted Harry back to reality very abruptly, out of a nightmare where he fell off his broom and broke his neck. Blaise fell out of bed. Theo jumped so violently he hit his head on the bedpost. Vincent sat up and blinked sleepily.

Harry willed his heart-rate to return to normal as he surveyed the room and saw nothing out of place. Had Greg had a nightmare too? Imagined himself choking to death on the sweets his parents sent him every day, perhaps?

"What in Salazar's name are you squawking about?" No one appreciated being woken so abruptly, and Blaise was never at his best so early in the morning anyway.

Greg cowered against the headboard, shaking like a leaf and clutching the covers. What on Earth could have frightened him so badly?

"S-spider," he gasped. "On my face. _His_." He jabbed a finger at Theo.

After that excitement, all hope of a last-minute snooze vanished. Harry tossed and turned for ten minutes before giving up and getting dressed.

He found Draco haranguing a shame-faced Greg in the common room.

"So instead of calmly removing the spider, you decided to scream like a Hufflepuff." It was truly amazing how much disdain Draco could inject into her voice. She wasn't quite as good at it as Professor Snape, but she was getting there. "And you call yourself a Slytherin? Hello, Harry. You should be _ashamed_ of yourself, Gregory!"

Harry made good his escape before Draco remembered a few times he'd acted in a less-than-Slytherin manner.

* * *

Almost every Gryffindor in the school was at their table, crowding around their Seeker. A few seventh year Ravenclaws were studying for their NEWTs at their table, utterly oblivious to the rowdy Gryffindors next to them, and a handful of Hufflepuffs chattered amongst themselves at their table. The Slytherin table was deserted except for the Quidditch team. Harry suspected the majority of his housemates were out picking seats for the upcoming match.

The Hufflepuff Seeker, a Fourth Year named Cedric something-or-other, called to Harry as he entered the Hall.

"Good luck on your first match, Harry!"

Harry managed a smile, but the butterflies from before the bet reappeared in his chest at the mention of the match and they brought their friends and relatives with them. If he lost the match for Slytherin after all the points he'd already lost, he might as well jump headfirst off the Astronomy Tower.

Flint and the rest of the team were deep in discussion about the match, under cover of a privacy spell. It was hardly necessary, considering the amount of noise coming from the Gryffindors, but Slytherins were nothing if not paranoid. Harry sat down, helped himself to a slice of toast, and resigned himself to being excluded from the discussion.

Adrian Pucey noticed him and with a flick of his wand altered the spell so he could hear. Harry nodded his thanks.

"McLaggen's a bragging imbecile," Chaser Mylor Wroxton was saying. "He'll be too busy showing off to look for the Snitch, and if he gets too annoying, Elenore can hit him with a Bludger."

Elenore Silwood, one of the Beaters, looked like a four-year-old on Christmas morning at this pronouncement.

"Don't underestimate him," Flint warned. "We're far enough behind the Gryffs as it is. If any of you allow them to win, I'll tear you to pieces with my bare hands!" Considering his size, it was likely he could do just that. "And when I'm done with you, Professor Snape will want a word."

The team shuddered as one.

"He hasn't been in a good mood lately," Pucey observed. "Wonder why?"

Harry could have told him "why" in considerable detail, but decided discretion was the better part of valour and held his tongue. If he didn't know what was the talk of his own House, let someone else enlighten him.

* * *

Ron couldn't bear to watch. This whole fiasco was an exercise in humiliation. The match hadn't even started, and Gryffindor was doomed.

Why couldn't Harry be a Gryffindor? He certainly showed Gryffindor traits, like taking on a mountain troll single-handed (and oh, how he wished he'd been there to help). Maybe the Sorting Hat was Confunded when it Sorted him.

Depressing as it was to admit, Harry wasn't a Gryffindor, and Gryffindor didn't have a proper Seeker now Charlie was off risking life and limb in Romania. Ron wished they'd make an exception to the "no first years" rule for him; as much as he'd hate playing against Harry, getting the House Cup was far more important when the Quidditch season started.

Professor McGonagall had ordered try-outs for Seeker. Ron was certain Lee Jordan would have been an excellent choice, but the idiot liked commentating so much he refused to even try out. So, McGonagall chose Cormac McLaggen.

There were several things Ron could say about McLaggen, and all of them would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap if his mother ever heard them. The second year was arrogant, brash, rude, an idiot… everything Slytherins thought Gryffindors were and everything Gryffindors _shouldn't_ be. And he wasn't even a very good Seeker. What that said about the talent of everyone else who tried out didn't bear thinking of.

Anyway, the match was about to start, and while the rest of the Gryffindor team was lined up and facing the Slytherin team, McLaggen was zooming about the pitch and utterly ignoring Madam Hooch's whistle.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut. That idiot was making Gryffindor look bad, and he had to do it when the entirety of Slytherin House came to watch their new Seeker's first game.

* * *

Harry couldn't understand it. What was Professor McGonagall thinking when she made that boy Seeker? He spent more time yelling insults at passing Slytherins than looking for the Snitch!

Well, if his opponent wanted to hurt his team's chances of winning the match, Harry certainly wouldn't try to stop him. He ignored McLaggen as much as possible, devoting his entire attention to scanning the area for any sign of the Snitch. He _had_ to win today; not only was his House counting on it, Mr. Lupin had come to watch his first match. He just couldn't lose!

Lee Jordan, a Gryffindor Harry knew only by sight, acted as commentator. "The lovely Angelina Johnson has the Quaffle, but one of those slimy Slytherins-"

"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and most of Slytherin House yelled in unison.

"Replace him!" a fourth year Ravenclaw sitting next to her Slytherin boyfriend shouted with the help of a _Sonorous_ charm. "It's not fair that the commentator should be from a House that's playing in the game!"

Harry tuned out the rest of the argument. Whatever the outcome was, Jordan kept his position for the moment.

"Flint has the Quaffle – _no_ , he's about to score – Good catch, Oliver!"

Harry joined in a collective groan from every Slytherin present as Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's captain, grabbed the Quaffle just before it went through the goal.

"Now Alicia Spinnet has the Quaffle – Pucey hits a Bludger at her – look out! Good, she dodged in time. Now Fred-or-George Weasley has hit the Bludger back at Pucey – ouch, that's gotta hurt. Hope it knocks him out."

"JORDAN!"

The Slytherins took up the "Replace him!" chant again.

"Sorry, professor," Jordan apologised, not sounding very sorry.

"Fred-or-George Weasley is nearly hit by a Bludger, and George-or-Fred Weasley hits it towards Flint. Flint dives; it goes over his head. Angelina has the Quaffle again – what a great player she is, and very pretty too-"

"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall's patience ran out at last. "One more word out of you that isn't about the game, and Percy Weasley gets your position!"

The entire Gryffindor team stopped whatever they were doing and gave her horrified looks. Marcus Flint took advantage of their distraction to grab the Quaffle and score three times before anyone realised what was happening.

"Hey, that's got to be against the rules! Where's Madam Hooch, is she blind?" Jordan was outraged.

That was when Harry saw it. The Snitch fluttered around a mostly-Ravenclaw stand, where Hermione, Neville, Ron, and even Hagrid were cheering for Harry. McLaggen hadn't noticed a thing.

Harry zoomed towards it, hand outstretched.

"Potter sees the Snitch – Cormac, what are you doing? Get after him!"

It was lucky for Lee Jordan that he was safely in the teacher's stand and only an idiot would try to attack him there, because at that moment Harry dearly wanted to punch him.

McLaggen shot after him. Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye, suspecting he might try a bit of foul play. He did. He feinted towards Harry as if he intended to knock him off his broom. Harry saw it coming and dived sharply. McLaggen, caught off guard, turned to the left and nearly flew into the midst of the second year Ravenclaws.

His rival out of the way, Harry looked around for the Snitch. It had vanished.

* * *

"Yer Seeker isn't much good," Hagrid observed as McLaggen spun around in the air.

Ron didn't answer. He was too busy yelling every insult he knew at the Seeker, oblivious to the fact Hermione Silenced him.

"He'll hurt someone!" Neville squeaked as McLaggen flew right in front of one of the Slytherin team, almost knocking her off her broom.

"That's why I don't like flying!" Hermione said, waving her arms for emphasis. "It's dangerous, no one takes any safety precautions, and it turns everyone into raving madmen!"

Ron stopped insulting his team's Seeker long enough to hear this blasphemy against his favourite sport.

"Hey!" he protested silently, and finally noticed the spell.

"You were going to use filthy language in front of eleven-year-olds," Hermione said by way of explanation. "You don't want to lose points for Gryffindor, do you?"

"YOU BLOODY BOOKWORM, TAKE THIS SPELL OFF ME!"

"I'm sorry, Ron, I can't hear you." She smiled sweetly.

"Somethin's gone wrong with 'Arry's broom," Hagrid said, staring intently at the Slytherin Seeker through his binoculars. "'E's all over the place."

Hermione grabbed Hagrid's binoculars and scanned the stands.

"It's Snape!" she whispered to a still-Silenced Ron. "He's jinxing the broom!"

She shoved the binoculars into the Gryffindor's hands and ran off. Hagrid was busy reassuring a sobbing Neville and neither heard nor saw her.

* * *

Harry flew idly around the pitch, staying out of both teams' way and looking around for the Snitch. Occasionally he feigned to see it and would race towards some part of the pitch, then slow down and let McLaggen zoom past and wear himself out searching for it. The Gryffindor never seemed to realise what he was up to.

His broom shuddered suddenly, as if it hit something. But that was impossible. None of the other players were near him, and he was far above the stands. Harry slowed down. It happened again, more severely. Then the broom shot backwards, and he nearly lost his balance.

Unnerved, he tried to fly lower, but his broom wouldn't listen. It swung to the right, to the left, up, down, round and round, and in every way but the way he wanted it to go. What could be wrong with it?

The broom rocketed upwards, then dived down. Harry lost his balance and found himself clinging to his out-of-control broom. He grabbed his wand and cast a Sticking Charm on the hand still holding the broom, mentally thanking the twins for teaching him that charm.

Now he was in less danger of falling to his death, he tried to catch the attention of his team mates, or even the spectators. They were all so busy tossing the Quaffle around that they hadn't even noticed their Seeker was in imminent danger of a horrible death.

Pucey raced towards the goalpost, Quaffle in hand, and finally saw Harry. He dropped the Quaffle in shock and stated gesturing wildly.

The pitch erupted into uproar. Flint and Wroxton flew up and tried to pull him back onto his broom, but the broom leapt away from them each time. The Weasley twins tried a different approach, going underneath him and casting levitation spells in an effort to lift him back onto it. They had as much success as the Slytherins.

* * *

Draco tore her eyes away from Harry's plight to survey the stands. Brooms didn't just go out of control like that. Someone had to be jinxing it, and that would require a very advanced jinx. Her eyes instinctively went to the staff's stand. Her godfather was staring right at Harry and saying something. It was extremely unlikely he'd try to kill his House team's Seeker, so she looked for someone else.

Ah ha! Quirrell was also staring right at Harry and murmuring an incantation with a look on his face utterly at odds with the "stuttering imbecile" front he presented to the world. There was something about that look that sent chills down Draco's spine; it was almost like looking at a complete stranger wearing the Defence teacher's face.

She thought quickly. Anything that broke Quirrell's concentration would break the jinx. She could give him a shove, which would get her in trouble, or she could go into the space behind the seats and hex him. A Stinging Hex would do.

She got up and fought her way through the crowd of Slytherins watching proceedings with bated breath. Once she was away from them, she ran as fast as she could along the walkway connecting the stands. Everything went swimmingly until she met Granger.

"Malfoy! You're Harry's friend, aren't you?" The Ravenclaw seemed to be in the grip of a mild panic attack. "You've got to help me! Snape's jinxing his broom!"

Oh, for the love of… The Muggleborn twit was supposed to be the smartest witch in her year, but when a life might well depend upon her intelligence and observational skills, she became more stupid than Crabbe and Goyle put together.

"He is not," Draco snapped. "He's performing the counter-jinx. _Quirrell_ is jinxing Harry's broom."

She stormed past, leaving the Ravenclaw staring after her. She didn't have time to wait for Granger to get her head on straight.

Granger caught up with her at the point where the walkway split in two. To the left it went upstairs to the teachers' stand, and in front it went into the empty space beneath the seats. This meant that any conversation would be audible to both the people sitting closest to the wall and to anyone who happened to be at the top of the stairs.

"What are you going to do to Quirrell?" Granger asked in a whisper.

"Stinging Hex," Draco replied, also in a whisper.

"I know how to conjure fire."

"Good. You set fire to his robes while I hex him."

* * *

Harry's arm felt like it was being wrenched out of its socket every time the broom moved, and he wasn't at all confident his Sticking Charm would last much longer. The teams completely abandoned the game in favour of trying to rescue him, but they had no success and got in each other's way more often than not.

 _Just my luck,_ he thought gloomily. _I survive a madman and ten years with the Dursleys, and I'm about to die because of a crazy broom._

Suddenly the broom stopped pitching and jerking about. Harry stared up at it distrustfully. Was it a trap of some sort? The broom still didn't move. The pain in his arm conquered his remaining reservations and he scrambled onto it, cancelling the Sticking charm.

It didn't throw him off. It didn't even move. He took advantage of its surprising docility to head down to the ground as quickly as possible.

He'd long since forgotten about finding the Snitch. He never expected it to find him.

* * *

"HARRY!" Lupin yelped as Potter's broom spun around, turning the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Give-Him-Heart-Attacks into a human windmill sail.

There went Severus's concentration. There were many very old, very rare poisons he'd always wanted to try brewing, and the moment Potter had both feet safely on the ground he was going to brew at least ten and force the werewolf into drinking them if he had to Imperius him.

"Shut up!" he hissed at Lupin.

The werewolf got the message. Severus continued whispering the counter-spell as Potter's broom did a somersault and a nosedive in rapid succession.

Quirrell, sitting on the bench above them, leapt up with a shriek. At the same moment Harry regained control of his broom. A coincidence? Highly unlikely.

The boy clearly had more sense than his father; James would have insisted on finishing the game. Harry descended towards the ground post-haste.

Now what was wrong? The brat had a hand over his mouth as if he was about to be sick. Well, if that was all it was, Severus couldn't blame him. He felt rather sick himself. In fact, as soon as he saw his ward safely ensconced in the hospital wing, he was going to take a Dreamless Sleep potion and Merlin help anyone who disturbed him before noon tomorrow.

Potter landed and suffered some kind of coughing fit. Severus watched, alarmed. Had Quirrell cast some other sort of spell at him?

The boy spat something out and held it up. It was the Snitch.

* * *

"Great job, Harry!" Ron cheered, forgetting for the moment that his team lost the match. "That's got to be the first time anyone caught the Snitch like that!"

McLaggen, who happened to overhear, sneered at them. "What's so special about swallowing a Snitch? Any idiot could do that."

"Go f-" Ron began.

"Harry!" Hermione shoved past McLaggen as if he wasn't there. The next thing Harry knew she had her arms around his neck and was hugging him so tightly they might need a crowbar or a chisel to remove her. "Now do you see what I mean? Flying is deadly! If it wasn't for us and Professor Snape you would've died! Are you sure you're all right? I think you should go to the Hospital Wing. What spell did you cast and where did you learn it? Can you teach me? If you _ever_ get on a broom again, Harry Potter, I'll jinx it myself!"

"Hello, Hermione," he wheezed when she finally stopped her disjointed speech. "Mind letting go? I need to breathe, you know."

"Oh! Sorry." She released him and took a step back, her face oddly red. "We've something very important to tell you!"

"But not here," Draco said from where she was standing behind Ron. Ron and Harry jumped. Neither of them had noticed her there. "I don't suppose any of you know anywhere safe to talk?"

"'We'?" Ron echoed. "Both of you have something to tell us?" He looked to Harry for an explanation. Why he thought he could give him one when he'd been dangling over the Quidditch pitch was a mystery. Then his eyes moved from Harry to something behind him and he gasped.

Harry felt like a character in the Muggle horror films Dudley used to make him watch in the hope he'd have nightmares. What was behind him? Did he really want to know?

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry was probably the first student in the history of the Wizarding world to react with relief to Professor Snape. For a moment there, he'd imagined a rogue Bludger coming at his head, or Voldemort rising from the dead to hurl another Killing Curse at him.

"Hello, Professor!" he chirped, turning to face his Head of House. "Did you see me catch the Snitch?"

Five minutes later, as Snape dragged him through the halls to the Hospital Wing while yelling at him for bragging of his near-death experience, he was forced to concede that maybe he should have assured the Professor he wasn't hurt, first.

* * *

"You've nothing worse than a slightly strained shoulder and a nasty fright," Madam Pomfrey pronounced. "Drink these."

Harry eyed the proffered potions dubiously. "What are they?"

"This one will heal your shoulder and this one will calm you down."

"I don't need calmed down!"

Madam Pomfrey gave him a Look. It was the sort of Look that promised Very Unpleasant Consequences if you continued to disobey. Harry squirmed, remembering the fact he'd spent an uncomfortable amount of term so far in detention, and getting yet another staff member mad at him wouldn't be the wisest course of action. Especially if he ever needed to visit the Hospital Wing again.

He downed the two potions, one after the other. Yuck! They tasted like someone put rotten eggs, Dudley's socks and a bucket or two of mud in a pot, boiled it up, then added a bottle of vinegar just to make sure they tasted as horrible as possible. Wizards could make brooms fly, could turn tables into pigs, and according to Neville some of them could see the future; couldn't they make potions in nice flavours? Chocolate ice cream flavour, for example?

"What happened to my broom?" he asked after waiting a few minutes to make sure he wouldn't be sick.

"Mr. Lupin brought it to Professor Flitwick; he and Professor Quirrell are checking it for anything that might have made it act like that."

* * *

Draco, Ron and Hermione pounced on Harry the moment he left the Hospital Wing.

"What did she say? Are you all right?" Ron practically danced on the spot with impatience.

"She made me drink disgusting potions and told me to get a good night's sleep because I'm a delicate child who's suffered a severe shock," Harry grumbled. He still hadn't forgiven Madam Pomfrey for the "delicate child" remark. "Is here safe enough to tell us whatever you want to say?"

Draco looked around at the hallway. "No, anyone could hear us. There's an unused classroom over there; it should be safe enough."

* * *

" _Professor Quirrell_ jinxed Harry's broom? You're crazy! He'd faint if someone even mentioned a jinx! It was Snape who jinxed it; you said yourself he was muttering something!"

Draco counted to ten. She found she had to do that more and more often since coming to Hogwarts. "Professor Snape was counter-jinxing it."

"You don't know that!"

Not for the first time, Draco wished Gryffindors weren't allowed in Hogwarts. Harry listened to Granger's recitation of events and was now engaged in thinking about it, but Weasley refused to even consider the idea that Quirrell might not be the incompetent, useless coward he appeared. It was a classic example of Gryffindor thinking. When a Slytherin could get the blame for something, why accept that a member of another House was guilty?

"Harry regained control of his broom when we hexed Quirrell," Draco said slowly and clearly, in the hope that her words might make it through the weasel's thick skull. She doubted it, though. A Bludgeoning Curse would have no effect on that family. "We never went anywhere near Professor Snape. Quirrell is obviously guilty."

"I have headaches in Quirrell's class," Harry piped up. What that had to do with anything was anyone's guess. "And why would Professor Snape try to kill me in front of so many people when he's had plenty of opportunities at other times?"

Finally! He was finally starting to think like a Slytherin! Draco had honestly been afraid he was mis-Sorted on occasions.

"Well, why would _Quirrell_ try to kill you in front of so many people?"

Damn it. Couldn't Weasley ever admit he was wrong?

* * *

Severus was not in the habit of drinking during term except in extremely stressful circumstances. Today's events were far beyond stressful. He was simultaneously exhausted and wide awake, had a headache rivalled only by the aftermath of one of the Dark Lord's Legillimency attacks, and to top it off was the knowledge Lily's son came within a hair's breadth of dying in front of him (and the entire school). All things considered, he felt he'd earned a bottle of firewhiskey followed by a Dreamless Sleep potion.

He'd drunk half a glass of firewhiskey when someone knocked at the door to his quarters. Oh, for Merlin's sake… There were only three people his visitor could be: Albus, Minerva, or the wolf. Or, if he was particularly unlucky, all three. Being caught drinking alcohol would certainly not go down well with Minerva, and the wolf would probably accuse him of celebrating Potter's near-death experience.

He Banished the glass and tumbler to the cupboard and stalked over to the door. It wasn't the Headmaster, or a certain catty Head of House, or even the wolf. It was Potter himself, looking very nervous about something. What was _he_ doing here? Poppy should have kept him in overnight at least, not let him run about the castle.

"It was Quirrell, Professor!" the Boy-Who-Should-Be-In-The-Hospital-Wing exclaimed. "Quirrell jinxed my broom!"

That confirmed his suspicions about the Stuttering Moron, assuming it was true and not one of the extraordinary conclusions teenagers leapt to as easily as breathing.

"Come in," he ordered.

Potter came in and looked around curiously. He made no move to either sit down or explain. Severus groaned silently as he realised the boy was waiting for further orders. He was probably afraid to sit down without told.

"Sit down and tell me what you mean."

The brat obliged. His explanation was remarkably concise and to the point, and in less than five minutes Severus was in possession of all the facts. What he heard staggered him, though he took care not to show it. Draco teamed up with that bushy-haired know-it-all? Draco _hexed a teacher_? Lucius would have a stroke if he knew what his daughter got up to at school. At least she acted like a Slytherin even when not acting like a Slytherin; she didn't jump to conclusions, she thought of a plan, and she made sure she wasn't caught.

"Hermione and Draco won't get in trouble, will they?" Oh, _now_ Potter thought of that?

"For helping to save a student's life?" Oh, Merlin. That was what they'd done, wasn't it? He could hardly reward Draco and not Granger, so… "Fifty points to Slytherin and Ravenclaw." Hmm. He'd deducted an awful lot of points from his own house this term. "And another fifty points to Slytherin for telling a teacher instead of trying to deal with this on your own."

Potter smiled gratefully, and in that moment Severus could have sworn that black hair and glasses aside, he looked exactly like Lily.

* * *

Christmas was less than a month away, and suddenly the entire castle was a frenzy of students sending owls to parents, parents sending owls back, students packing, students unpacking, students forgetting to pack, and teachers losing their tempers when students failed to hand in their homework for an entire week.

Slytherin House remained almost entirely unmoved by the chaos around them. The Slytherins and their parents had decided whether they would stay or go home before the term even started, and all that remained to be done was get packed and wait to hear from their parents if there'd been a change of plan.

Harry hadn't a clue what would happen to him, since according to Professor McGonagall Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were in Azkaban while Dudley was living with a distant cousin. The Weasleys were going to visit one of their children somewhere in Europe, so he couldn't go and stay with them as Ron had hoped. It looked like he'd spend Christmas as the only Slytherin staying at Hogwarts.

"Harry?" Theo asked one snowy day as he searched his suitcases for a magazine he'd misplaced. "Would you like to stay with me for a few days? I owled my parents and they said you could."

"All right," Harry said after considering it for a moment.

Blaise looked up from folding his robes. "I'd invite you too, but my mother's getting married again, and Millie's going on holiday in Switzerland so she can't. Draco's going to invite you; she sent an owl to her parents about it."

In the space of five minutes, he'd gone from having nowhere to go to being invited to one of his friend's homes, might be invited to another, and two of his friends would have invited him if they could. An odd, warm sort of feeling settled on Harry's chest.

Neville, Hermione and Ron spent a surprising amount of time in far-flung corners of the library lately – surprising for Neville and Ron, that is, not for Hermione – so he hardly saw them except at dinnertime.

"Harry?" Neville asked timidly, stopping next to him on his way to the Hufflepuff table. "Have you ever heard of someone called-" he lowered his voice to a whisper "-Nicolas Flamel?"

Nicolas Flamel? That name sounded familiar… "I don't think so."

"Oh." Neville looked crestfallen. "I was just wondering. Well, uh, would you like to visit me over the holidays? Ron's coming, too."

And that was how Harry found himself with invitations to two of his friends' homes.

Neville returned to his House table. He'd hardly left when Draco sat down next to Harry, a letter in hand.

"I heard you were going to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas," she began. Harry couldn't think of where she heard that, since he'd certainly never talked about his plans for the holiday. "So I owled my parents and asked them if you could come and stay with us until term starts again. Theo said you'll stay with him for a while, and I suppose Longbottom was asking you to visit him, so you could come the week before Christmas."

Harry suspected that figuring out when he was going to visit who would be a headache worthy of Quirrell's classes. For some reason, he didn't care.

* * *

"Gred?"

"Yes, Forge?"

"When did we use the Map last?"

"Last week, that time we hexed Madam Pince's duster. Why?"

"Something's wrong with it. The Map, not Pince's duster."

"What? Let me see that." Fred pulled the Map out of his twin's hands. "What's wrong with it?"

"Look at Dumbledore's office. Then look at Quirrell's office."

Fred looked at Dumbledore's office and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Then he looked at Quirrell's office and his eyebrows vanished into his hairline. "What is Nicolas Flamel doing in Hogwarts?"

"No idea," George said, frowning. "Isn't he a friend of Dumbledore's? Maybe he's come over for a cup of tea. What I'd like to know is, who's Tom Riddle and why's he following Quirrell everywhere he goes?"


	14. Chapter 14: A Mirror, a Book and a Plan

**A/N: This chapter is where the story starts to** _ **really**_ **diverge from canon.**

 **Sally-Anne Perks is only mentioned once in the books and they don't tell us what she looks like or what House she's in, so everything about her besides her name is my invention.**

 **I have a bad habit of procrastinating and writing chapters at the last minute, so if anything seems rushed it's because it was written in a rush.**

* * *

 **Chapter 14: In Which Ron Finds a Mirror, Sally-Anne Finds a Book, and the Twins Make a Plan**

 _Time is that quality of nature which keeps events from happening all at once. Lately it doesn't seem to be working._ \- **Anonymous**

Lucius Malfoy had a problem. Draco had befriended the Boy-Who-Lived. That in itself wasn't a problem, since the Malfoys had made a very successful living out of allying with the most important and influential people. What was a problem was that she wanted to invite him for Christmas. Harry Potter befriending the Malfoy heir would help them recover their respectability. Harry Potter being cursed by a Dark object in Malfoy Manor would just confirm the Wizarding world's opinion of them. So, he found himself forced to go through his house in search of objects to be locked away in his Gringotts vault or sold off to Borgin and Burke's.

Great Aunt Orgeluse's trilliant-cut blue-and-black earrings would have to go to the vault; they had a nasty habit of deafening anyone not of Malfoy blood who dared touch them. So would that scarf; it liked to strangle anyone who went near it. That table could go to Borgin and Burke's; it did nothing more than force whoever sat at it to tell the truth. Maybe he could convince Burke to make sure it ended up in Fudge's possession.

It was when he searched his study for any dangerous books that he found it. It was an old diary, completely empty except for "T. M. R." and an address somewhere in Muggle London written on the inside of the front cover. Lucius stared at it blankly. At first he couldn't remember what it was or where he got it.

Oh. This was the book the Dark Lord gave him. Well, the Dark Lord was dead and not likely to ask for it back, and Lucius had no need of a diary. It wasn't cursed, so there was no reason to sell it to Burke; he'd just leave it on a shelf in Flourish and Blotts. He planned on getting one of Draco's Christmas presents there anyway.

* * *

It was all McLaggen's fault. No one insulted a Weasley and got away with it, and Harry was an honourary Weasley, so Ron was duty-bound to get vengeance on his behalf. The question was, how? He wasn't an expert on curses like Bill, he wasn't good with dangerous animals like Charlie, he couldn't bore McLaggen to death like Percy, he couldn't prank him like the twins, and he couldn't punch McLaggen and get away with it like Ginny.

The Christmas holidays officially started in two days, but some students had special permission to leave early. He didn't know if McLaggen was one of them, but whether he was or not, he wasn't staying over the holidays. So Ron swallowed his pride and asked Hermione.

"You'd have to make sure he got caught and you didn't," the Ravenclaw said in a tone very similar to McGonagall's "lecture mode". "Filch patrols the whole castle at night, so if you just make sure McLaggen goes out after curfew, he'll be caught."

Ron gulped. He'd never realised how terrifyingly Slytherin Hermione could be. He was just glad she'd never used her Slytherin instincts (Slytherinstincts?) on him. Or had she? He remembered a few times his belongings mysteriously vanished and turned up in the most unlikely places. Had he simply been careless or had Hermione gotten vengeance for all the times he insulted her?

"But how can I get him caught without me getting caught?" he wanted to know.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "You could dare him to go somewhere after curfew and wait for Filch. Or, if you really wanted to make sure Filch caught him, you could tell him before daring McLaggen."

It was official: Hermione Granger was the most terrifying Ravenclaw ever. The hat clearly made a mistake when it Sorted her; she was more Slytherin than some Slytherins (*cough*Harry*cough*). Ron found himself torn between admiration and backing away slowly.

He thought long and hard of how he could get McLaggen in trouble, and finally an idea presented itself. If Ron told him a group of Slytherins were plotting the downfall of Gryffindor House in the Trophy Room, McLaggen would charge off to hex them. And if he found Filch instead… It wasn't a perfect plan, but Ron was new at this whole plotting business and McLaggen was too dumb to notice anything wrong.

* * *

"Mr. Filch?"

Ron never thought he'd see the day when he willingly approached the dreaded caretaker. Of course, he never thought he'd see the day when he set out to get a Gryffindor in trouble on behalf of a Slytherin, either.

Filch scowled at him. "What do you want, Weasley?"

"I thought I should tell you that a student is going to the Trophy Room after curfew tonight," he said, reciting the speech he'd come up with after daring McLaggen.

Filch grinned like Fred and George in a joke shop. Ron almost felt sorry for McLaggen for a moment.

* * *

Lucius glanced around Flourish and Blotts. The only people in the shop were a bored clerk, a Hogwarts student with – bizarrely enough – blue hair, her obviously Muggle parents, and a couple of off-duty Aurors engrossed in an argument about whether or not one person could do all the things Gilderoy Lockhart claimed to have done. None of them so much as glanced in his direction. Normally he'd have been affronted, but right now he needed to draw as little attention as possible. Even though it wasn't cursed, the book would be considered a Dark artefact simply because of who originally owned it. Being caught with a Dark artefact when an alarming amount of the Wizarding world still mistrusted him would result in a close acquaintance with the Dementors.

He set the diary behind a collection of books on Ancient Runes and waited for a few minutes, pretending to be examining one of the books, before wandering off with an air of nonchalance.

Sally-Anne Perks watched him curiously. Being Muggleborn, she had no idea who he was beyond "he looks a bit like that Slytherin girl", but she knew he was behaving very oddly. What did he put on that bookshelf?

She left her parents to browse through the History section and crept over the Ancient Runes section. This was fun; if she used a bit of imagination she became a detective sneaking up on a criminal and finding evidence of their crimes. She pushed the books to the side. Her face fell. It was a diary. It was an old, shabby diary that no one had even used. So much for being a detective.

Why would someone put an unused diary in a bookshop? Was it a custom of some kind in the Wizarding world? Oh, well. It must be one of those things people brought up in the Wizarding world knew about. The diary didn't belong in the shop, so it wouldn't be stealing if she took it.

* * *

Ron waited outside the Trophy Room with baited breath. He heard McLaggen stumbling around in the dark, but where was Filch?

"Well, now, what 'ave we 'ere?"

The caretaker's voice sounded deafeningly loud in the silence of the Trophy Room. McLaggen shrieked like a little girl who'd just seen a spider.

"Mr. Filch! I can explain! It's the Slytherins, they're plotting to take over the school!"

Ron got up and walked calmly down the hall until he was out of hearing range. Then he burst out laughing and did a kind of victory dance. McLaggen was in trouble, and no one would ever trace it back to him.

He made his way back to the dormitory in a very good mood, grinning like a lunatic all the way. He was so busy congratulating himself on his successful plot that he failed to notice he was heading away from the tower, not towards it.

Ron stopped and looked around. This hallway wasn't familiar. There were no portraits to point him in the right direction. Damn it, he was lost! The most sensible to do would be to retrace his steps until he found something he recognised. Gryffindors were not noted for being sensible. He continued down the hallway, pushing open the doors along the way in case he recognised the room on the other side.

That was how he found it. "It" was a mirror standing in the middle of an otherwise empty room. Written along its frame were strange words.

"What's a mirror doing here?" Ron wondered aloud.

Had the teachers been hit by a Vanity-Inducing Hex and the mirror was there for them to study their reflections when not teaching? …Highly unlikely. Even if such a Hex existed (if it didn't, it would as soon as Fred and George thought of it), Hogwarts' staff included the most powerful wizard since Merlin and a former(?) Death Eater. They'd be able to undo any hex within five minutes. So why was there a mirror here?

Ron took a step towards it and yelped. That was… It showed… That was _him_! He was older, and in far more expensive clothes, but it was definitely him. And his parents were there, too! He was playing for a professional Quidditch team, his parents were so proud of him, he had plenty of money… Ron sat down in front of the mirror, avidly watching the scene it conjured. This mirror showed the future; it was the only possible explanation. Mum and Dad would be so happy when he wrote to them and told them what was in his future!

Wait a minute. If this mirror showed the future, then if Harry looked in it they'd know once and for all if You-Know-Who would come back. And if Percy looked in it, Ron hoped he'd see himself getting taken down a few pegs. He had to tell his friends about this!

With a last longing look at the mirror, he left the room and went in search of Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Harry woke with a start. That was a very strange dream; something about a boy who found an underground cave and someone who died but didn't actually die. Oh well, dreams could be very weird. Compared to that one he had a few weeks ago about Professor McGonagall ballet-dancing, this one was positively mundane. He didn't bother trying to get back to sleep. Instead he looked through the photo album while waiting for his roommates to wake up.

The best man appeared in almost all of the photos. Whoever he was, he must have been very close to Harry's parents. Harry made a mental note to ask Remus about him the next time they met. Who was he? Where was he now?

Harry got a shock when he left the Slytherin common room with Blaise and Theo to find Ron pacing the corridor outside. What on Earth could have induced a contender for "most Gryffindor of Gryffindors" to come anywhere near Slytherin territory?

"There you are!" Ron looked inordinately pleased to see him. "There's something I have to tell you! It's really important!" He noticed Blaise and Theo watching this exchange with interest and scowled. "Can you tell your friends to leave us alone?"

Harry didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Not wanting other Slytherins around was sort of understandable, but what could Ron have to tell him that was so important he couldn't even wait until breakfast?

"You can go on to breakfast," he told the other Slytherins.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. His eyebrow-raising was almost as good as Draco's. "And let him convince you the Minister of Magic is a werewolf or something equally stupid?"

Theo didn't say anything. He just put his hands in his pockets and whistled tunelessly.

Ron groaned. "But they'll want to use it for themselves!"

Harry's impatience got the better of him. "Just tell me what you're talking about!"

"Fine! There's a mirror in the attics that shows the future."

"I didn't know it was possible for anything to show the future," Theo commented. "I think you've been played for a fool, Weasley. That sounds just like the sort of thing your brothers would do."

"I suppose you saw yourself as Minister of Magic, or so famous Gilderoy Lockhart would be green with envy?" Blaise said. "No one can see the future. Even true seers can't see things clearly. You should know that. Have your parents abandoned the Wizarding world entirely or are you just an idiot?"

"It _does_ show the future!" Ron's face turned an odd shade of purple.

Harry sighed. Sometimes he got tired of constantly being referee when his various friends didn't get on. "Why don't you just show us the mirror and then we can find out if it's a prank or not?"

* * *

"Still the same, Forge?"

"Still the same, Gred. This Tom Riddle character must be invisible. He follows Quirrell everywhere, from classroom to Dumbledore's office, and no one notices him!"

"Maybe he's an Animagus," Fred suggested, watching the dots labelled "Quirinus Quirrell" and "Tom Riddle" wander around the library. "Maybe even Quirrell doesn't know he's there."

"Quirrell will need to go to St. Mungo's if he doesn't," George said. "Riddle stays with him all the time. He even sleeps in his bed!"

Fred's eyes widened as a metaphorical light bulb went on in his head. "Maybe he hides under Quirrell's turban!"

"Don't be daft. No one could fit under a turban."

"Maybe he's an Animagus hiding under Quirrell's turban, then. His form would have to be a very small animal, like an insect or a spider."

A second metaphorical light bulb went on in George's head. "If we Summoned Quirrell's turban-"

"-we'd find out if-"

"-there were any spiders-"

"-or insects hiding in it," they finished together.

Grinning like lunatics, they turned back to the Map.

"Maybe there's just something wrong with the Map," Fred said suddenly. "It says Ickle Ronniekins is in the attics with three slimy snakes."

"And it says there's someone called "Peter Pettigrew" in the Gryffindor common room," George added, looking confused. "There's no Gryffindor called Pettigrew."

The twins looked back and forth from their brother to the mysterious Mr. Pettigrew to the even more mysterious Mr. Riddle.

"When should we open the strange case of the stolen turban, Forge?" Fred asked at last. "Hey, what's Quirrell doing in a girls' bathroom?"

George's eyes snapped from Pettigrew to where his twin was pointing. "Think he got mixed up?"

"We've seen plenty of boys go into girls' bathrooms," Fred pointed out.

"But Quirrell's a teacher!"

Then, to their great astonishment, "Quirinus Quirrell" and "Tom Riddle" vanished.

"You can't Apparate from inside Hogwarts," George said, rubbing his eyes. "Can you?"

"Not unless you're Dumbledore. That settles it. There's something wrong with the Map."

* * *

Harry couldn't see anything special about the mirror. It was pretty, as mirrors went, and the writing along the top was odd, but there was nothing about it that screamed, "Powerful magic object! Get your fortune told for free!"

"We just look in it?" he asked dubiously.

"That's generally what you do with a mirror," Blaise agreed dryly, suiting action to the word and standing in front of it. He immediately leapt back, eyes wide. "What? But… that's…"

"What is it? What do you see?" Theo pushed him out of the way and stared at the mirror like it contained the secrets of the universe. His mouth dropped open. "Look! I'm a researcher at the Ministry! And I'm married to…" He turned bright red and backed away from the mirror. "Your turn now, Harry."

Harry looked at Theo, still blushing, and Blaise, still in shock. Just what had his friends seen in their futures? "I'm not sure I want to."

"Oh, go on," Ron encouraged.

Harry prepared himself for the worst and looked in the mirror. At first he couldn't understand what he saw. It showed him with his mother and father, looking exactly as they had in the photos, with Remus next to them, and Draco stood next to Harry. Oddly enough, he and Draco weren't any older. Didn't this mirror show the future?

He looked up at the writing. _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_. That made no sense. Then he read it from back to front, and suddenly it made sense.

"I show not your face but your heart's desire," he read aloud. "Ron, this mirror doesn't show the future."

"What?" Ron looked bewildered. "But I saw-"

"It shows you what you want to see. It says so there."

Ron stopped looking bewildered and started looking like a kicked puppy. "You mean… it's not real? What I saw's just my imagination?"

An uncomfortable silence fell on the room. Harry found he had to fight against the almost uncontrollable urge to look back at the mirror and see his family and friends again.

"I think we should go," Theo said at last.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I've never kept a diary before, so I don't know how to start. So much has happened! On my eleventh birthday a woman in funny clothes showed up outside our door and told us I was a witch, and now I'm going to a school for witches and wizards. It's called Hogwarts and it's in a castle, an actual castle! It even has ghosts!_

Sally-Anne paused, thinking of what she should write next. Which should she mention first: the lessons or what life in Hufflepuff was like? She happened to glance down at the page and her eyes widened. Everything she'd written was gone as if it never existed. The page was completely blank.

Even as she watched writing that definitely wasn't hers appeared on it.

 _ **Who are you?**_

A diary that wrote back?

 _Hello, diary. I'm Sally-Anne Perks. Do you have a name?_

 _ **Hello, Sally-Anne. My name is Tom Riddle.**_


	15. Chapter 15: Accio Turban!

**A/N: Draco was nowhere to be seen in the last chapter, so I meant to give her a major role in this one. Unfortunately, it didn't turn out quite as planned. I hope what happens in this chapter makes up for it.**

* * *

 **Chapter 15:** _ **Accio**_ **Turban!**

 _Impulsiveness can be charming but deliberation can have an appeal, as well. –_ **Sarah Dessen,** _ **Along for the Ride**_

Tom woke sluggishly, at first unwilling to wake at all. Words kept forcing their way in front of his metaphorical eyes. He caught a glimpse of "Hogwarts" and immediately woke up fully. His other self must have successfully returned to Hogwarts and retrieved the diary. Then he saw the rest of the words. A _Mudblood_ had his diary? How in Salazar's name did that happen?

The writer paused for a moment, giving Tom time to think of what to do. It was oddly hard to think clearly; he felt like he'd been asleep for centuries but he was still so tired.

 _Who are you?_

In the time it took for the writer to answer, he came up with a plan. Something had obviously happened to his other self. The only way he could leave the diary was to drain another person's life. He would win the trust of this "Sally-Anne Perks", use her to set the Basilisk free as a distraction, then drain her.

* * *

"Lemon drop."

The gargoyle stayed put. Severus glared at it. Surely Dumbledore hadn't done what it looked like he had…

"Lemon drop!"

"He's changed the password," it said.

…He had. Damn that sweets-obsessed, sugar-addled, interfering, senile… Severus took a deep breath and starting listing every sweet he could think of, magical and Muggle.

"Sherbet lemon. Ice Mice. Liquorice Allsorts. Cockroach Clusters. Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans."

The gargoyle leapt to the side.

Albus looked up in surprise as he entered. "I didn't expect you until after dinner, Severus. I see you worked out the new password."

That certainly hadn't required much effort. All you needed to guess the password was a decent memory for the names of various sorts of sweet. Severus hoped Albus realised the danger of being so predictable in his passwords. All the Dark Lord or someone working for him had to do would be to memorize every sweet in existence and voila – instant access to Dumbledore's office.

"What have you done about Quirrell?" he asked, deciding to raise the matter of the password some other time.

"I put a Tracking Charm on him at breakfast. I'll know everywhere he goes."

"Oh, that's very helpful." Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "It won't stop him trying to kill Potter again, or trying to get past that monstrosity Hagrid thinks is a pet. You're the only one who knows where he is; he could steal the Stone before you can warn the rest of us."

This had happened at least once before, after the wolf nearly ate Severus. Dumbledore put a Tracking Charm on Potter Sr. and that filthy traitor Black, but they still managed to put a glue-like substance on the Ravenclaws' seats in the Great Hall. There had been an amazing amount of foul language when the Ravenclaws tried to get up and found themselves stuck to their chairs.

"Don't worry, my boy. Even if Quirrell or anyone else gets past the traps and steals the Stone, they'll be disappointed." Albus's eyes twinkled alarmingly.

Hmm. That sounded like Albus knew something he was keeping to himself for now.

"Why did you want to see me?" Severus asked, changing the subject. He knew from experience that only Minerva in a rage could make the Headmaster divulge whatever he had planned.

The twinkle intensified. Severus felt very, very afraid.

"It's a pity the Weasleys are in Romania; it would have been nice for Harry to spend Christmas with them." Where was this going? Was Albus about to send Potter to Romania where he would have to deal with dragons, vampires and Merlin knew what else? "Harry hasn't spent much time with his new guardians."

Severus finally caught on. " _No_ , Albus. Christmas is one of the few times of the year I have peace to brew. I will not traipse all over England with Potter simply because you want me to."

"I don't want you to go with him while he's visiting the Notts and the Malfoys, although I want you to ensure they don't feed him their blood purity ideas," Albus said pacifyingly. "However, after Christmas Harry will have to return to Hogwarts until the term starts again. Surely you could take him to Spinner's End with you?"

What?

"No. Absolutely not. I am not going to spend my entire holiday keeping him from breaking into my Potions stores. Potter can stay at Hogwarts with the Weasley brats."

* * *

Severus stalked back to his quarters, fuming. How had that meddling old coot talked him into this? The Christmas break was the only chance he had during term time for research, and now he'd have to supervise a first year. Didn't he endure enough at the hands of students without spending his Christmas with one?

He'd hardly closed the door when his Floo flared to life.

"Snape? Are you there?"

Damn. It was the wolf.

"What do you want?" he snapped. "Wish me a merry Christmas and I'll eviscerate you."

Lupin didn't even have the decency to be offended. "It's nothing to do with Christmas, though now that you mention it, I've got another photo album to give Harry and I don't know where to send it. Will I leave it at Hogwarts?"

Severus fought the urge to growl. He was supposed to be more civilised than the werewolf, after all. The things he endured for Potter… "Leave it here. I'll make sure he gets it. Why did you call me, if not to spread obnoxiously cheerful good wishes?"

He never knew someone could look sheepish through a Floo, but Lupin managed it.

"I may have mentioned I was a werewolf to Harry."

Oh no. He could see it all now. Potter's self-preservation instincts kicked in and he refused to have anything to do with Lupin. Not that Severus could blame him, having first-hand experience of how deadly werewolves were, but now he'd have to convince Potter to see Lupin again.

Lupin continued, oblivious to where his former schoolmate's thoughts went.

"He doesn't know how dangerous werewolves can be-" It sounded like there hadn't been a Potter-Lupin rift, then. That was almost a pity. "-and I may have said something stupid." What a staggering revelation. A Gryffindor said something stupid. That was so unexpected, so extraordinary, it should be commemorated for future generations to wonder at. "I told him that I was safe to be around as long as I took Wolfsbane." Oh. This was just a needlessly complicated way of asking Severus to supply him with it. Hadn't he already agreed to do that? He must have; he'd brewed a whole batch of it a while ago, and it was unlikely he'd do that on a whim. "And he wanted to see me when I'm transformed."

…What.

* * *

Harry didn't ask what Theo or Blaise saw in the mirror. They obviously didn't want to talk about it. He would rather forget the whole incident too. Seeing his family and knowing it was all just an illusion felt like someone had plunged a knife into a gaping wound in his chest he didn't even realise he had, then twisted the knife for good measure. Anyway, he had more pleasant things to think of.

Like what to give his friends for Christmas. Hermione was easy enough; she'd want books. Ron would want anything Quidditch- or chess-related, and he'd give the Weasleys the money he won in the bet. Theo would like anything on entomology. Neville would want something on Herbology… or maybe Potions. He needed all the help he could get in it. But what about Draco, Blaise, Millie and Professor Snape?

Professor Snape might like something to do with Potions, but the other three… The only thing Harry could think of for Blaise was a condolence card for when his newest stepfather died, and that wasn't exactly the sort of thing you generally gave as a Christmas present.

Oh, well. He'd be staying with Theo and Neville before Christmas. Their families were bound to go shopping at some point. He could look for presents then.

* * *

Draco chewed the tip of her quill without realising it. She knew that if she waited until going home to tell her parents about losing the bet, there would be an explosion, but writing a letter about it wasn't much better. How did you say, " _Dear Mother and Father, I've lost eighty Galleons to Harry and I suspect he's going to give them to the blood traitors_ "?

She drummed her fingers on the table and looked around the library vacantly. Her gaze landed on a certain trio of students and she immediately snapped to attention. What were those three studying so intently?

Weasley, Granger and Longbottom, oblivious to her scrutiny, continued poring over a collection of thick tomes. Granger practically lived for books, but Draco hadn't even realised the other two could read. What were they doing?

Draco put her quill, ink and parchment back in her bag and got up. She made a point of going as close to their table as possible without raising suspicion. This allowed her to get a glimpse of the books they were reading. What she saw hardly cleared things up. Why were they reading about great wizards of the twentieth century?

 _Maybe Harry knows,_ she thought as she left the library. This was promptly followed by, _If they've convinced him to join them in yet another outrageous scheme…_

She conveniently forgot that she was responsible for at least one outrageous scheme Harry was roped into.

* * *

Theo's house was by no means small, and Neville's was so grand Harry felt approximately three inches tall when he first saw it, but they both paled in comparison to Malfoy Manor. It was _huge_. It was so big that walking from one end to the other would take a week – longer, maybe, since you could very easily get lost.

Unlike Theo's house, which looked imposing on the outside but was so cluttered it made the Weasley's home look tidy, or Neville's, which had whole rooms devoted to plants, there was nothing about Draco's home to make it a home instead of just a grand old house. It was spotlessly clean, as neat as a pin, and looked like no one lived in it.

Harry hadn't met Draco's father yet, but her mother met him at the door when Mrs. Longbottom dropped him off. He got the impression she was just like the house; beautiful, grand, and very cold.

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and surveyed the guest room that would be "his" during his stay. Perfectly clean windows, perfectly white walls, and not a speck of dust to be seen. It was so neat and tidy he was afraid to touch anything. How could Draco live in a place like this?

"Master Harry Potter Sir! What an honour!"

What on Earth? Harry looked around for the source of the noise. Oh, it was just a house-elf. A strange-looking house-elf wearing very dirty clothes and carrying a bag.

"Hello," he said politely. The Hogwarts house-elves were always happy when someone was polite to them. "What's your name?"

The house-elf's eyes practically stood out on stalks. "Master Harry Potter Sir asks Dobby his name! How kind of Master Harry Potter Sir!"

Why did it call him "Master Harry Potter Sir"? The Hogwarts elves only called teachers "Master Sir" (or "Mistress Ma'am").

"What do you want?" Harry asked, eyeing the elf's strange, ragged clothing dubiously. He couldn't imagine Mrs. Malfoy letting anything so dirty in her house, so was this one of the Malfoy house-elves or an intruder?

"Dobby is bringing Master Harry Potter Sir his Christmas presents from Hogwarts," the elf replied, setting the bag down.

Harry caught a glimpse of silver and bright green. Mrs. Weasley must have sent him one of her famous Weasley sweaters. "Thanks, Dobby."

The elf's eyes filled with tears. "Master Harry Potter Sir is thanking Dobby! Master Harry Potter Sir is so kind!"

"Er…" Harry didn't know what to say. This house-elf acted nothing like the ones in Hogwarts. "You don't have to keep calling me that. You can just call me Harry."

"Dobby will do as Master Harry Potter Sir wishes!" the elf chirped. Harry stifled a groan. "Dobby must leave Master Harry Potter Sir now."

It vanished with a *pop*. Harry stared at where it had been for a moment, then turned to the bag. He hesitated. It was only Christmas Eve; should he look through his presents now or wait until tomorrow?

Someone knocked at the door.

"Come in," he said, still staring at the glint of wrapping paper in the bag.

Draco pushed the door open. "Dinner's ready. I'll bring you down to the dining room so you don't get lost. What's that?" She'd finally noticed the bag.

"Some of my Christmas presents."

"Bring them too, then. We'll put them all under the tree." She paused. "Do you know why your friends were reading about famous wizards of the twentieth century?"

Harry blinked. Which of his friends did she mean?

"I don't think so," he said at last. Then he remembered what Neville asked him and added, "Unless they were looking for Nicolas Flamel."

"Nicolas Flamel?" An odd look flitted across Draco's face, as if she'd just made a very disturbing discovery. "Hurry up; dinner will get cold."

Harry shook his head, bemused. Girls.

* * *

"Right, Forge," said Fred, feeling like a military commander, "the trap at Quirrell's door is set. He'll be late to dinner, so as soon as he comes in-"

"I _Accio_ the turban and we search it for Animagi," George finished. "Got it."

The twins sedately entered the Great Hall as if they hadn't just made plans to disturb the peace – yet again – and took their seats between Ron and Percy. Professor Quirrell was nowhere to be seen. McGonagall and Flitwick appeared to be slightly tipsy, Hagrid even more so, and Dumbledore poured a bit of something suspiciously resembling firewhiskey into his eggnog. The only teacher still fully sober was Snape, who looked at the scene before him as if it was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen.

Halfway through dinner, a decidedly ruffled Quirrell appeared. He stammered an apology as he sank into his seat.

" _Accio_ turban," George whispered under cover of Dumbledore laughing uproariously at a joke Flitwick told him.

Nothing happened.

" _Accio_ turban!"

Nothing happened.

George nudged his twin. "It won't work!"

Fred took his wand out of his pocket, held it beneath the table, and jabbed it in Quirrell's general direction. " _Accio_ turban."

The turban remained stubbornly fixed to Quirrell's head.

"Let's try together," Fred said.

They waited for a diversion. Hagrid unknowingly provided one by getting a turkey leg tangled up in his beard.

" _Accio_ turban!" the twins said together as everyone else watched Hagrid's efforts at disentangling the turkey.

The turban finally moved, and a great deal happened.


	16. Chapter 16: A Sticky Situation

**A/N: Almost everyone seemed to hate the cliffhanger last chapter, so sorry about that. Actually, no, I'm not sorry (insert evil grin here).**

 **This was a really hard chapter to write. I wanted there to be an epic battle between Quirrelmort and Dumbledore while Ron went to protect the Stone, but the characters had other ideas. Oh well, maybe I can work that into a future chapter.**

 **Guest: Sirius is still Harry's godfather; Remus is sort of a stand-in godfather/adopted uncle. Don't worry, Sirius won't be the bad guy. Pansy will** _ **try**_ **to blackmail Draco, but whether it works or not… You'll just have to wait and see :P**

* * *

 **Chapter 16: In Which Voldemort Finds Himself in a Sticky Situation**

 _Every solution to every problem is simple. It's the distance between the two where the mystery lies._ **– Derek Landy,** _ **Skulduggery Pleasant**_

No one was ever able to give a clear account of what happened immediately afterward. It all happened so quickly that everyone was taken by surprise. The turban flew off Quirrell's head. The twins had less than a second to exult in their victory before Quirrell leapt up with an eldritch shriek, wand in hand. Perhaps he saw them Summon the turban, or perhaps he simply settled on them as the most likely culprits, but he gave the two of them a murderous glare.

" _Avada_ -" he began, before realising where he was and who was nearby.

Most of the teachers were slightly drunk, and the students, thanks to Quirrell's incompetence, didn't know any spells that might be of use. As one the students dived off their chairs or erected Shield Charms to escape their apparently insane Defence teacher. The teachers stayed where they were, looking like they knew something was wrong but didn't quite know what to do.

Snape threw a Sectumsepra at Quirrell. He was taken as much by surprise as everyone else, but he had the advantage of being the only still-sober teacher present, and as much as he hated the twins, he wouldn't let a madman kill them. Molly would tear him limb from limb if any of her children died when he could have prevented it. Quirrell dodged the spell with a speed utterly at odds with his "stuttering moron" façade. That was when everyone noticed something truly horrific: _there was another face attached to the back of Quirrell's head!_

"Ssseverus!" the extra face hissed, glaring at him malevolently. "How dare you attack your master?"

"Voldemort!" Dumbledore thundered, finally recovering from the surprise of a teacher attempting to murder a student or two.

He hurled a nonverbal Incarcerous at the Dark Lord and his host. The other teachers followed suit with various other spells. Quirrell deflected them all with ease as he backed towards the nearest exit.

It was total pandemonium. The younger students cowered under the table. The older ones threw as many hexes and jinxes as they could remember at Quirrell, getting in each other's way and hitting everything except their target. The teachers were torn between trying to get the students to safety and stopping Quirrell. All things considered, it was really no surprise that Quirrell escaped.

Dumbledore immediately began issuing orders. For once, his eyes weren't twinkling. "Professors Vector and Hooch will stay here with the students. The rest of you will come to the third floor with me."

Severus started to follow the Headmaster. Then he froze as a horrible thought struck him. Voldemort and Quirrell were bound to know they couldn't possibly get past all the traps and escape, with or without the Stone, when almost the entire Hogwarts staff was on their heels. Quirrell knew by virtue of being a teacher where all the students were. Where were they likely to go? After Harry. Where was Harry? With the Malfoys, who would be too afraid of offending the Dark Lord to object to him killing the boy. Well, Draco might object, but then she'd be in danger too.

"Albus!"

Dumbledore stopped and looked round. "What's wrong?"

Severus explained the danger Harry was in as quickly and concisely as he could. The other teachers listened in growing horror. When he finished, Minerva stepped forward, with a look on her face that would strike terror into the hearts of a legion of Dark Lords.

"You go on to the third floor," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I will deal with the Malfoys."

* * *

Back in the Great Hall, Fred and George sat rooted to the spot in their chairs as the other students panicked. None of their other pranks, no matter how outlandish, had ever caused such chaos. Frankly they were as much at a loss to understand what happened as everyone else.

"I guess we know who Tom Riddle is," Fred whispered to George at last in an effort to lighten the mood. "Wonder why mouldy Voldie changed his name?"

"I suppose "Tom" isn't a scary enough name," George replied. "What about Pettigrew?"

Fred looked at him blankly. "Pettigrew?"

"Peter Pettigrew. The one we saw creeping around Gryffindor Tower. That Pettigrew. The Map wasn't wrong about Riddle and Quirrell, so there must be someone hiding in the Tower."

"Not another Dark Lord," Fred groaned.

* * *

Voldemort was in a bit of a sticky situation. He hadn't figured out how to get past the traps, that doddering old fool knew he was here, and it looked like the Stone was out of his reach. All these facts combined to put the Dark Lord in a very bad mood, and he took his displeasure out on the only person nearby.

"You said you warded the turban!" he hissed furiously at Quirrell. "How did those idiots Summon it?"

"I don't know, Master," the former Defence teacher said meekly as he scurried towards his office. "Where shall we go?"

Voldemort snarled. He'd briefly considered going after the Potter brat, but dismissed the idea. Dumbledore would undoubtedly have sent some of his lackeys to protect the so-called "Boy-Who-Lived". He couldn't get the Stone, he was no closer to regaining his body, and he couldn't even wreak vengeance on the person responsible.

Then an idea began to form.

"We shall go to Lestrange Manor," he said.

Rodolphus and Rabastan were dead, and dear Bella was in St. Mungo's, so it was uninhabited. It would be a perfect place to lie low and plan. Dumbledore would think he'd gone to Albania, and when he went off in search of him there, Voldemort might even be able to retrieve the Stone. Tonight's events were nothing more than a temporary setback.

* * *

Minerva stepped out of one of Malfoy Manor's many fireplaces. A house-elf immediately greeted her.

"Who is you?" it asked, eyeing her with open suspicion and hostility.

Under normal circumstances, she would have felt sorry for the poor thing – it was stuck serving a horrible family like the Malfoys, after all. An insane, murderous Dark Lord on the loose did not count as "normal circumstances". She glared down at it as if it was personally responsible for the chaos Christmas Eve descended into.

"I am Professor McGonagall," she snapped, her Scottish accent becoming more pronounced with every word, "and I am here to bring Mr. Potter-" She paused. Leaving the Malfoy girl behind when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might appear at any minute didn't sit well with her conscience "-and Miss Malfoy back to Hogwarts. There has been an emergency."

The house-elf stared at her as if she'd spoken Greenlandic or Ancient Egyptian. What was wrong with it? Couldn't it understand plain English? "…What has you said?"

Exasperated, she pushed past it and stormed into the hallway. She promptly came to a halt. Storming out of a room was all well and good when done properly, but it could become just plain embarrassing if you were in an unfamiliar house and hadn't a clue which way to go.

She sheepishly turned back to the house-elf. "Could you take me to your master and mistress?"

* * *

Draco couldn't believe her eyes. What was _Professor McGonagall_ doing in _Malfoy Manor_? With a paper hat perched precariously on top of her head, her hair loose, and a decidedly wild look in her eyes, no less? For a moment Draco imagined the Head of Gryffindor getting drunk and going on a murderous rampage against Slytherins. She promptly dismissed the thought as ridiculous.

"Draco, dear, close your mouth," her mother said reprovingly. "Your manners have clearly deteriorated since you started Hogwarts."

Next to her, Harry finally noticed the Transfiguration teacher bearing down on them. He froze with his fork half-way to his mouth, a look of mingled confusion and alarm on his face.

Her parents finally noticed their uninvited guest. Her father choked on his wine and her mother dropped her knife with a resounding clatter.

"What in Merlin's name-" Lucius began.

Professor McGonagall cut him off. "I'm sorry for interrupting your dinner, but I must insist on taking Mr. Potter and your daughter back to Hogwarts."

"Why?" Harry asked curiously.

"Because the Headmaster says so."

That sounded ominous. Draco immediately began running through the list of not-exactly permitted things she'd done since arriving at Hogwarts. The only ones involving Harry were the ones she'd already been caught and punished for. So why did Dumbledore want them both to come back to Hogwarts? On Christmas Eve, no less!

"Why does Dumbledore require their presence?" Narcissa asked.

"There has been an emergency and he wishes to ensure all the students not at the school are safe."

Something about that sounded like a lie, but Draco couldn't quite figure out what it was.

Lucius looked very annoyed. "You can see for yourself that neither of them is hurt. Now please leave. You are intruding."

Professor McGonagall drew herself up to her full height. "Don't you use that tone to me, Lucius Malfoy! You might think you're someone important with your money and your fancy manor, but I can remember you as a skinny eleven-year-old whose hair kept getting in his eyes and who stole Mulciber's needle because his own stayed a matchstick!"

Lucius turned a brilliant shade of red. Draco stared at her father incredulously. Had he really tried to steal someone else's work in _McGonagall's_ class? Going by the brief look of amazement on Narcissa's face, this was the first time she'd heard this story. Draco wondered what embarrassing incidents McGonagall could recount from her mother's schooldays.

Oh dear. Her father's expression was rapidly turning from mortified to furious.

"Would we be allowed to come back later tonight?" she asked the Professor before Lucius did or said something that might adversely affect her chances of beating Granger in the end-of-term exams.

"Tonight or early tomorrow."

"In that case, I see no reason why we shouldn't acquiesce to Dumbledore's wishes this time," Narcissa said, with a warning look at her husband. "If they have to stay at the school overnight they can ask a house-elf to bring what they need."

"Did your father really cheat in McGonagall's class?" Harry asked Draco in a whisper.

She fought the urge to hit her head against the table.

* * *

The capture of Peter Pettigrew was really ridiculously easy. All Fred and George had to do was follow the Map. It said he was under Ron's bed in the first year boys' dormitory, so that was where they went. There was nothing under Ron's bed but his rat, Scabbers.

"Guess the Map's wrong for once," said George, disappointed. "Or else this bloke Pettigrew's invisible."

Fred wouldn't give up that easily.

"We thought that about Quirrell," he said as he reached under the bed and picked up the sleeping rat. "I'll walk to the other side of the dorm and back. You watch the Map and see if Pettigrew goes with me."

He walked over to the window, rat in hand, turned, and walked back. His twin kept his eyes on the Map.

"Pettigrew went with you."

They looked at each other, than at the rat. Scabbers slept on, oblivious to the fact his cover had just been blown.

* * *

"Professor Snape?"

Severus bit back a very foul swearword. He wouldn't put it past Molly to come to Hogwarts and wash his mouth out with soap if he dared swear in front of her sons, even if it was the ginger menaces.

"What do you want?" he snarled at the identical imbeciles. He'd just spent an hour going through the traps with his colleagues while expecting to hear at any minute that Minerva was too late and Harry was dead. He had no wish to talk to Gryffindors in general and those two in particular.

Wait, why did they have their brother's flea-bitten rat in a cage?

"We need-"

"-to tell Professor-"

"-Dumbledore something-"

"-but we-"

"-don't know the password," they chorused.

Severus debated the wisdom of telling them the password. On the one hand, they were unlikely to prank Dumbledore, especially right after what happened. On the other, who knew what havoc they could cause in his office if he wasn't there?

There went his last remaining hope for a peaceful Christmas Eve.

* * *

"Touch anything in the Headmaster's office and I will make you drink whatever lethal concoction Longbottom creates next," he warned them as the three of them ascended the stairs leading to Dumbledore's office. "Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, sir," they said as one.

He wished they'd stop doing that. It was downright disturbing.

They found Draco, Potter and Minerva in the Headmaster's office. He breathed a silent sigh of relief at the proof his goddaughter and ward were both safe. Minerva was still slightly tipsy, and she'd clearly forgotten about the paper hat she got from a cracker. It made her look utterly ridiculous. The two Slytherins simply sat back and stayed out of her way as she paced back and forth, ranting at length about Dark Lords and how low Albus's standards had fallen.

Albus himself looked devoutly thankful for a distraction.

"Ah, there you are, Severus!" he said. "And Messrs. Weasley, I see."

Maybe-Fred stepped forward, caged rat in hand. Might-be-George followed.

"Hey, that's Ron's rat," Harry said, staring at it. "Why do you have it?"

The twins exchanged a look.

"You see, sir," Possibly-George began. "We think-"

"-we have reason to believe-" Fred(?) interrupted, with a decent imitation of Percy's pompous tone.

"-this rat is an Animagus," George finished, glaring at his twin.

Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle. "That is a very serious claim. Might I ask what made you come to this conclusion?"

They shifted awkwardly. "We'd rather not say, sir."

Albus turned his attention to the rat and joined everyone else in looking at it curiously. It certainly didn't look like the sort of animal any self-respecting Animagus would turn into, with its scruffy fur and missing toe. It was also still asleep.

"Did you Stun it?" Severus asked, unable to think of any other reason it could sleep through being carried around Hogwarts and stared at like a museum exhibit.

"Yes, sir," Fred chirped.

"Take it out of the cage," Albus said.

George obliged and put it on the floor. Albus waved his wand in a complicated pattern, and Severus's world tilted on its axis. Suddenly the rat wasn't a rat anymore. It was someone Severus hadn't spared a thought for in a decade, someone the entire Wizarding world believed dead.

It was Peter Pettigrew.


	17. Chapter 17: Sirius Black

**A/N: Nearly missed the deadline this week** _ **again**_ **. I had writer's block, so this chapter is shorter than usual. Hopefully it isn't as painful to read as it was to write :D**

 **A note about the Philosopher's Stone; it always seemed to me like Dumbledore was careless in keeping the Stone in the school at all. Voldemort/Quirrell could have found a way to circumvent the "only someone who doesn't want to use it can find it" thing, and in fact they nearly did. So, because this is an AU, I decided to have Dumbledore do something more sensible.**

* * *

 **Chapter 17: Sirius Black**

 _OUTCOME,_ n. _A particular type of disappointment._ **– Ambrose Bierce,** _ **The Devil's Dictionary**_

Peter Pettigrew was alive. That raised a very worrying question. Sirius Black was in Azkaban for murdering Pettigrew and several Muggles. Far be it from Severus to think well of Black, but if he hadn't murdered Pettigrew – and the proof he hadn't was right in front of them – had he murdered the Muggles?

Had the Wizengamot put an innocent man (relatively speaking) in Azkaban?

Dumbledore the "kindly grandfather" vanished in an instant. Dumbledore the defeater of Grindlewald, the only person Voldemort ever feared, appeared in his place.

"Who's that?" Potter asked.

"Incarcerous!" Ropes wrapped around Pettigrew's unconscious form. Dumbledore levitated him into an empty chair. "Severus, do you have Veritaserum with you? No? Kindly fetch some. Minerva, call Amelia Bones. Tell her to come at once and bring Alastor if she can. This, Mr. Potter, is Peter Pettigrew."

As Severus left the office, he heard Potter say, "But Remus said he was dead!"

He was never sure how he got to his supply stores, fetched the Veritaserum, and returned to the Headmaster's office so fast. However it happened, he could have sworn he was only gone a minute when he returned to Albus's office. It was rather more crowded than when he left. Alastor Moody, large as life and twice as scarred, stumped up and down in front of the still-unconscious Pettigrew, muttering to himself, Amelia Bones interrogated Albus, Minerva and the students on exactly what happened, and two trainee Aurors – one of whom he recognised as Nymphadora Tonks, a truly atrocious Potions student who _finally_ ceased to inflict herself on his classes last year – lurked in the corner, looking like they didn't quite know what to do with themselves.

"Ah, Severus!" Albus looked delighted to see him. Whether it was because they could get on with the investigation or because his arrival distracted Madam Bones from her questioning was anyone's guess, but Severus suspected the latter.

Moody eyed him with obvious suspicion. "What's he doing here? Not exactly the best idea to let one Death Eater interrogate another, is it?"

"Hey! You can't talk to Professor Snape like that!" Potter burst out, startling everyone. The boy suddenly seemed to realise he wasn't speaking to a fellow student and turned almost as red as the twins' hair.

Minerva, of all people, came to the rescue. "Albus vouched for Severus; are you insinuating he was mistaken?"

Not even Moody would dare to cross Minerva when she was on the warpath. He hastily turned his attention back to Pettigrew. "Well, let's get on with it. Where's that Veritaserum?"

"Perhaps we should send the students back to their beds?" Albus suggested.

Draco, Harry and the twins looked like they'd mutiny on the spot if anyone tried to make them leave. Go to bed when a criminal had just been apprehended? Not likely!

"Have you gone senile, Albus?" snapped Bones. "They'd tell everyone they see about this, someone would owl their parents, the parents would owl the Ministry for an explanation, and we'd have Fudge and that Skeeter-" she paused, searching for a word suitable for use in the presence of under-eighteens, "- _woman_ here before you could say 'Quidditch'."

Albus sighed. "Very well, then. Severus, the Veritaserum?"

Severus handed it to him and watched as he revived Pettigrew and force-fed him almost the entire bottle.

"What is your name?" Madam Bones said.

"Peter Francis Pettigrew."

"When were you born?"

"November 3rd, 1960."

"Where have you been for the past ten years?"

"In hiding, pretending to be the Weasleys' pet rat."

"Why were you hiding?"

"Because I was afraid Sirius or Remus would try to kill me."

"What reason would Remus have to kill you?" Minerva asked, earning herself a glare from both Aurors.

"I betrayed James and Lily."

* * *

Harry couldn't understand what was happening. Being taken from the Malfoys' for no apparent reason was surprising enough, but this was just baffling. Remus told him both Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew were dead, but then the twins brought in a rat that turned into a man that was actually Pettigrew, then Professor McGonagall explained that Black was in Azkaban for betraying Harry's parents, then it turned out _Pettigrew_ was the traitor, not Black.

He gave up trying to understand the situation until someone saw fit to explain it.

The two strangers continued questioning the surprisingly-cooperative Pettigrew. The twins looked shell-shocked. Draco looked thoughtful. Professors McGonagall and Snape looked increasingly murderous as Pettigrew continued talking. Professor Dumbledore looked like he'd suddenly aged a hundred years.

"We'll take him into custody," the woman Professor McGonagall called "Amelia" said to the teachers, as the extraordinarily scarred man Stunned Pettigrew and hauled him out of the chair. "We'll organise the trial for tomorrow morning. Black should be free by noon."

Professor Snape scowled fiercely.

* * *

Draco couldn't believe it. She'd never met either Pettigrew or her mother's cousin before, but Aunt Bella and Great-Aunt Walburga's portrait had praised Uncle Sirius to the skies for killing Pettigrew.

"He disgraced us all," Great-Aunt Walburga had said, "but he proved he was a true Black in the end."

As Draco watched Moody drag an unconscious Pettigrew through the Floo, all she could think was, _Great-Auntie will scream like a banshee when she hears about this_.

"Sir?" Harry's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"What?" Professor Snape asked sharply.

"Did that man really betray my parents?"

Draco rolled her eyes. Hadn't he heard _anything_?

"Yes, he did." Her godfather looked like he wanted to hex something – preferably, something that had spent ten years living as a rat.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Perhaps the children should go to bed. I expect Harry will want to meet his godfather tomorrow. Minerva, would you please escort Messrs. Weasley and Weasley back to the Tower? I don't think we should bother Molly and Arthur with this story tonight."

The twins finally snapped out of the daze in which they'd spent the entire meeting.

"If you don't tell Mum and Dad-"

"-as soon as possible, by which we-"

"-mean immediately, they'll throw fits!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps you're right. Severus, please take Mr. Potter and Miss Malfoy to their respective dormitories."

* * *

After a Floo call to the Weasleys and a considerable amount of time spent reassuring them that Pettigrew hadn't harmed their children and would face the full force of the law, Albus decided it was time for bed. This was certainly the most eventful Christmas Eve since James Potter's second year, when Severus spiked James' and Sirius' dinner with a potion that turned them bright green without taking the precaution of brewing the counter potion.

"Albus?"

He stopped halfway up the stairs. Why was Minerva Flooing him? Had she discovered another Gryffindor was unwittingly harbouring an Animagus in disguise?

"Yes, Minerva?"

She wasted no time in getting to the point. "I think you should call Flamel and tell him to take that creation of his away from here at once! Quirrell and You-Know-Who will make another attempt to steal it!"

"You needn't worry, my dear; I returned the Stone to Nicolas over a month ago. It would have been foolish to leave it in the Mirror when anyone with brains could work out where it was and how to get past the traps."

* * *

"What did he mean, I'll want to meet my godfather tomorrow?" Harry asked.

Draco groaned silently. She'd forgotten to mention Sirius was his godfather, hadn't she? It seemed everyone else had forgotten too.

"He meant that your father, for reasons I shall not pretend to understand, saw fit to make Sirius Black your godfather," Professor Snape said through gritted teeth.

Harry stopped abruptly. "So why didn't Black wait to explain everything to the police instead of going after Pettigrew?"

What were "pleess" and why would Sirius have explained anything to them? Did he mean the Aurors? For the first time in her life Draco wished that she knew more Muggle terminology. Conversations could get downright incomprehensible when Harry forgot or didn't know the actual word for something.

"Black was an idiot without more than two live brain cells and no common sense. He wouldn't have known a sensible course of action if it strangled him."

Harry was silent for the rest of the walk to the Slytherin common room. Outside the portrait, he stopped again and said, "But he's my godfather, isn't he?"

Draco was tempted to slap him. Or dose his every meal with a Wit-Sharpening Potion, a Hearing-Sharpening Potion, and a Memory-Sharpening Potion. Did he _never_ listen?

"I believe we established that," Professor Snape agreed testily.

"Then what if he wants me to live with him? I mean, I'm sure he must have been all right at some point or my dad wouldn't have made him my godfather-"

 _That decision says more about your father's intelligence than Uncle Sirius's suitability_ , Draco thought.

"-but he's a stranger! And he's been in Azkaban! What if he's insane?"

That was certainly possible. Some of the Aurors stationed on Azkaban went mad after a month or two; a prisoner who'd been there for ten years certainly wouldn't be the sanest person alive. By all accounts Sirius hadn't been the most mature person you could hope to meet before Azkaban. He might well be fit for nothing but a lifetime in St. Mungo's by now.

"If he's insane, you have nothing to worry about. Incompetent though the Ministry is, they aren't likely to give custody of the Boy-Who-Lived to a madman."

* * *

Sirius had long since lost track of time. Days, weeks, months and years all blurred together and became indistinguishable. He spent whole days in his Animagus form, searching for some respite from the Dementors. It never worked. They might not have the same effect on a dog as they had on a man, but their presence brought back the memories of James and Lily dead, of Pettigrew escaping, of him being dragged here by his former colleagues.

It could have been a week or a thousand years since he first came to Azkaban when the door to his cell opened. He hardly noticed at first. He didn't react when someone levitated him off his bed and onto some sort of trolley, because really, what could they do to him that was worse than what had already happened? Even if they were taking him to be Kissed it would be a relief.

He couldn't remember falling asleep, but that was the only possible explanation. James was dead. He wasn't sitting next to his bed. It wasn't possible. Sirius was asleep and dreaming, that was all there was to it.

"Go away," he murmured sleepily, closing his eyes. "You're dead. You can't be here."

James stared at him. "I'm sorry; I can't understand you."

Huh? That wasn't James' voice. Sirius opened his eyes again. This wasn't his cell; it looked like St. Mungo's. And the boy sitting next to him wasn't James. He looked just like him, but James didn't have green eyes. The only people with eyes like that were Lily and Harry.

Well, if this was a dream, it was better than most of them. At least this one didn't involve Voldemort ruling the Wizarding world.

* * *

Harry stared awkwardly at his godfather. The healers warned him that he shouldn't expect him to be able to understand who Harry was or where they were, but it would have been easier if he was asking questions. Instead, Mr. Black seemed to be half-asleep, and Harry hadn't a clue what to do.

Finally, he settled for talking.

"I don't remember you, but Remus says you used to visit almost every day when my parents were still alive. He said you found me after Voldemort killed them. I lived with my Aunt and Uncle after that, until I was ten. They hated magic. When my Hogwarts letter arrived, they wouldn't let me open it, and when the school kept sending more and more letters Uncle Vernon took us off to a shack on an island in the middle of a storm. I know; my Uncle was an idiot. Then Hagrid came on my birthday, and he gave me the letter and a cake, and he gave Dudley – that's my cousin – a tail.

"The next day we went to Diagon Alley and I got a wand and an owl. She's called Hedwig. And then I met a girl in a bookstore and now we're friends. Her name's Draco Malfoy, which I thought was odd but most Wizarding names are odd. Sirius isn't a normal name in the Muggle world, either – no offence." Harry paused, aware he was rambling.

"Anyway, I met Ron Weasley on the train, and it turns out his rat Scabbers is really Peter Pettigrew. Fred and George, Ron's brothers, found that out, and that's why you're here and Pettigrew's just gone to Azkaban. And… I'm in Slytherin, and I'm on the Quidditch team. I can't think of anything else to say," he finished, embarrassed.

Mr. Black didn't answer. He seemed to be asleep.

Harry sat in silence until Professor Snape came to collect him.


	18. Chapter 18: Too Much Talking

**A/N: Only a few Slytherins are named in canon, so as with the Quidditch team, if you don't recognise a name, it's because I invented it.**

 **I'm not sure I'm happy with this chapter, mostly because of all the talking, so please review and tell me if you love it or hate it.**

* * *

 **Chapter 18: In Which There is Far Too Much Talking**

 _Tell all the truth but tell it slant -  
Success in circuit lies  
Too bright for our infirm Delight  
The truth's superb surprise  
As Lightning to the Children eased  
With explanation kind  
The Truth must dazzle gradually  
Or every man be blind –_

 **\- Emily Dickinson,** _ **Tell All The Truth But Tell It Slant**_

It was a very gloomy Harry who returned to Hogwarts. His godfather wasn't a murderer, and he was free now, but the other students had told horror stories of how Azkaban drove people insane. His godfather certainly hadn't looked well. He might have to spend the rest of his life in the Wizarding hospital.

Harry had only just learned he had a godfather, and in the space of time between Pettigrew being found guilty and sent to Azkaban and Harry visiting Mr. Black, he'd imagined a bright and brilliant future of living with his godfather, hearing him tell stories about Harry's parents, having an actual home to go to over the holidays (no offense to his friends and the Weasleys, but visiting a house just wasn't the same). And now…

He didn't notice Professor Snape had stopped until he walked into him.

"Ow!" he yelped, jumping back. "Sorry, sir."

The Professor glared at him. "Has your eyesight suddenly deteriorated? No? Then use your eyes!"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Stop apologising!"

Harry bit back the instinctive "Sorry, sir" that was on the tip of his tongue.

Snape visibly reigned in his temper. "You have missed Christmas dinner, but since the other teachers – and no doubt the entire student body – know the… unusual circumstances that arose, the house-elves will bring you your dinner in your dormitory. Try not to spill gravy over your belongings – or anyone else's."

Harry had almost forgotten it was Christmas. Oh no! He hadn't wrapped his friends' presents yet! That thought promptly led to wondering if he should get a present for his godfather and if so, what to give a man he'd never met, who he hadn't even known existed a week ago.

"Well? Are you going to stand in the hallway for the rest of the day?"

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and winced at the look on the Professor's face. What had happened to put Professor Snape in such a bad mood? "No, sir."

"Then return to your common room."

"Yes, sir." He paused. "Can I tell the others about my godfather and everything?"

"I will be greatly surprised if they don't already know more about today's events than we do, but yes, you can tell them, if only to stop the spread of ridiculous, highly improbable and utterly false rumours."

* * *

The moment Harry stepped through the portrait into the Slytherin dormitory, all conversation ceased. All the Slytherins who stayed over the holidays – and a good few who he knew for a fact had gone home but had apparently come back for the day, like Theo, Blaise, Pansy, and Flint – were gathered in the common room. They immediately abandoned whatever they were doing and stared at him.

Harry tried not to show how uncomfortable it was to be the centre of attention. He didn't think he succeeded very well.

Finally, Calantha Thorley, another First Year who he couldn't remember ever speaking to before, broke the silence. "Is it true that you chased down a criminal and held him at wandpoint until the Aurors arrived?"

This was the first time Harry had heard anything of the sort. He stared at her blankly for a second before catching himself. His housemates didn't know what actually happened. Well, Draco did, but she was sitting between Crabbe and Goyle on the settee next to the fireplace, looking as if she knew no more than the rest of the house. It was clear from everyone else's behaviour that she hadn't told them anything, not even what she did know.

There was an opportunity here, and Slytherins jumped on opportunities.

"No, that's not true. Pettigrew never had a chance to escape."

The first and second years (and a few third years too) let out a collective gasp. Draco widened her eyes and covered her mouth with one hand. Harry wasn't the only one milking the situation for all it was worth, obviously.

He went over to one of the few unoccupied seats and sat down with the best nonchalant air he could manage.

 _Should I call a house elf and ask it to bring my dinner now?_ he wondered. _Professor Snape said I could have dinner in the dormitory, but he didn't say I_ had _to have it there and not in the common room…_

He was well aware the other Slytherins were waiting with bated breath for him to continue. He pretended he hadn't noticed a thing. This was actually quite fun! It almost took his mind off poor Mr. Black.

"Potter!" Flint had lost his patience. "Do you want to be flayed alive and turned into a hat and a pair of gloves?"

Harry shook his head, his eyes wide. Unlike Draco, he didn't have to pretend to be shocked. Did wizards actually go around skinning people and turning them into clothes? Neville hadn't mentioned that!

"Then tell us what happened! Now!"

He straightened up and began his story. "It all started because the Weasley twins suspected their brother's pet wasn't all it appeared…"

* * *

Severus shut and locked the door to his quarters and resisted the urge to scream and throw things. What did it matter that Black wasn't the traitor? It was hard to stomach the knowledge that the real traitor had been right under his nose since Percy Weasley first saw fit to inflict that rodent on Hogwarts, but it changed nothing. Black had still tried to kill him. He would doubtless try again as soon as he charmed his way out of St. Mungo's and learned his precious godson was a Slytherin. And then he'd take the brat off somewhere and raise him to break every rule in existence and a few that weren't. Well, let him!

The Floo roared to life. The Potions Master set down his wand so he wouldn't be tempted to fire a _Sectumsepra_ at his caller.

"Severus? Are you there?" Minerva sounded distinctly harried.

He sighed.

"What is it _now_?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"It's Sirius. He woke up while Remus visited him-" Oh, look; the Gryffindors were closing ranks already. Probably the wolf was spinning his flea-bitten friend a tragic, utterly untrue tale of how miserable poor Harry was in Slytherin and how the snakes were corrupting him. "-and he wants to see you immediately. He's kicking up quite a fuss over it." Thus proving that not even eleven years in prison could make a Gryffindor grow up.

"I'll go after tea."

Severus was certainly in no hurry to meet his boyhood nemesis again, and he intended to delay this meeting for as long as possible. Maybe he could pretend to break his leg… No, he'd find himself shipped up to the Hospital Wing the moment he tried, and if there was one thing that truly incensed Poppy, it was malingerers. He'd be lucky to escape in one piece.

"You will not!" Minerva snapped, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. "You'll go right now, before he drives the Healers as insane as the patients!"

* * *

"The courtroom was so crowded you could hardly move, and everyone had a camera. We had to leave our wands at the door because the Aurors were afraid someone might try to kill Pettigrew. There weren't any seats free for the public, but because we were witnesses they reserved seats for us."

"You must have felt so important," Pansy said, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Harry felt ill. He was sure Pansy had some excellent qualities, but he couldn't for the life of him think of any. Draco, sitting to his right, shot Pansy such a poisonous look it was a wonder she didn't shrivel up or turn to ash on the spot.

"Get on with the story, Potter!" Derrick, a burly Fifth Year who Harry recognised from Quidditch, demanded. He looked like he would gleefully disembowel the next person foolish enough to interrupt. "What happened when Pettigrew appeared?"

"Professor Snape and I took our seats next to Mr. Lupin, the Weasley twins, and Professor McGonagall, and we waited until all the Aurors and politicians sat down. Then a clerk got up and gave a long speech that could be summarised in one sentence: "We're all here, so let's start the trial". He talked so long I nearly fell asleep!"

Draco smiled wryly. Pansy and a few other girls looked like they wanted to offer their condolences but didn't dare. To Harry's alarm, not all of them were first or second years.

"Then a group of Aurors led Pettigrew in. Everyone watching yelled at him. I'd tell you what they said, but Professor Snape threatened to wash my mouth out with soap if I ever repeated it. Pettigrew kept struggling to get away, but they had him in chains and at wandpoint. They made him sit in a chair in the middle of the room. The clerk got up again and started talking. I didn't bother to listen.

"Even Professor Dumbledore thought he talked too much. He said, "That will do, Mr. Painnard", and started asking Pettigrew questions. He asked him what his name was, where he'd been for eleven years, and whether he betrayed my parents. The other people on the Wizengamot asked him questions, too. They asked Mr. Lupin, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape if it really was Pettigrew. They asked the Weasley twins to tell them what happened last night, and they asked me what I saw, and then they asked Mr. Lupin and the Professors what _they_ saw.

"They all argued for an hour. At last a woman got up and said they found Pettigrew guilty of being a spy, faking his death, and being an unregistered Animagus. Professor Dumbledore sentenced Pettigrew to Azkaban. Then he said Sirius Black was innocent and had already been released from Azkaban.

"After the Aurors took Pettigrew away, Professor McGonagall took the twins back to Hogwarts and Mr. Lupin went to speak to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Snape Apparated me to St. Mungo's and went to buy some Potions supplies. A Healer took me up to see my godfather. He was asleep the whole time, but I think he was dreaming; he was talking in his sleep."

Draco pursed her lips. Theo, Blaise and Millie exchanged glances. The older students looked grim. Harry understood why. Mr. Black had been in Azkaban for years. What sort of dreams would plague his sleep?

"I sat in the chair next to him. I didn't know what to do, so I told him about Hogwarts and being Sorted into Slytherin. Then Professor Snape came to collect me, and here I am."

A Seventh Year girl snorted. "You'll have really let the ashwinder into the henhouse if he heard you. Sirius Black's hatred of Slytherins is legendary! That was why his supposed betrayal was such a shock."

Harry winced almost imperceptibly. There was another obstacle in getting to know his godfather; what if the man loathed him on principle just because of his House?

Draco leaned forward. "If he objects to you being a Slytherin, he's not worth knowing," she whispered. It was as if she'd read his mind.

While hardly comforted, Harry accepted her comment as the attempt at reassurance it was. "Thanks."

* * *

Severus did not like hospitals. He'd spent far too much time in the Hospital Wing as a student – courtesy of the man he was here to see, no less! – and in St. Mungo's as an adult to feel at ease in them. Add that to the fact he was here to visit someone who tried to feed him to a werewolf, and only his pride kept him from turning and leaving post-haste.

He paused outside Black's door to ensure his wand was out of sight but within easy reach before knocking.

"Come in." The voice was weak, hoarse and cracked. Black must have a visitor; his voice had never sounded like that.

Severus pushed the door open. No, there was no one here except the person lying on the bed. He stopped and stared. When he was here with Harry, he had left as quickly as possible and hadn't spared Black a second glance.

He had for some reason expected the Gryffindor to remain largely unchanged. Once again, he found there was a vast distance between his assumptions and reality. The gaunt, decrepit figure before him bore no resemblance to the boy who made his school years a living hell. He looked like a skeleton, or a recently-created Inferius.

Black let out a bark-like laugh. "Hello, Snape. I know, you're shocked to see me like this. Remus was shocked too."

Severus glared at him. How dare he compare him to the wolf?

At least he hadn't called him "Snivellus". Hell must be rather chilly today.

"What do you want, Black?" he hissed. "I have far more important things to do than visit you."

Black propped himself up on his elbows. "I was talking to Remus. He told me about Harry's relatives."

"The aunt and uncle are currently in Azkaban." He considered saying something along the lines of "you might have been in the cell next to them; didn't you meet them over tea?" but decided against it. He'd spent a month in Azkaban while waiting for his trial. Not even the most fanatical Death Eater deserved to have smart comments made about being imprisoned there. "The cousin is with some relative and more than that I neither know nor care."

The Gryffindor waved a hand dismissively. "I don't care about them. Remus told me you helped him pay them back before you called the Aurors. He told me about how they treated Harry, and how you forced Dumbledore to take him away from them when you found out. So… I want to thank you. You took care of my godson when I couldn't. And…" Black seemed to have some difficulty getting his next words out, "I'm sorry for being such a bastard at Hogwarts."

It was official. They were having snowball fights in Hell.

* * *

Harry stared blankly at his last present. The tag said only, "This was your father's. Use it well." It was nice to have something of his father's, but who was it from?

He picked up the cloak. It was very pretty, with the way it shimmered when light hit it from a certain angle, but it was hardly the sort of thing you saw most young wizards wearing. Had fashions really been that different thirty years ago?

It fell over his hand and he gasped. His hand disappeared!

Suddenly excited for reasons he couldn't understand, Harry pulled the cloak over his head and went over to the mirror. It showed the dormitory and the rest of his presents scattered over the bed, but there was no sign of him.

 _Use it well…_ What could he use this for?


	19. Chapter 19: The Dragon Egg

**A/N: Time skips ahead again! I never realised just how much of** _ **Philosopher's Stone**_ **is taken up with the Trio trying to solve the Third Floor Mystery until the twins solved it by Christmas.**

 **I know, I've butchered the Black and Potter family trees. The real reason is that I can't keep track of my own relatives, let alone the characters', but since this is an AU let's just say that the family trees are different than in canon.**

* * *

 **Chapter 19: The Dragon Egg**

 _Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe._ **– Albert Einstein**

"Hello, Hedwig!" Harry called to his owl as he entered the Owlery.

Hedwig flew down to perch on his shoulder, hooting softly at him. He gave her a handful of owl treats.

"Can you take this to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for me?" he said after she finished them, holding out the parcel he'd carefully wrapped.

She picked it up and flew out the window.

* * *

"ARTHUR!"

Arthur choked on his bite of turkey. Charlie knocked his glass of firewhiskey over his cranberry sauce.

"Yes, dear?" Arthur said when his heartrate returned to normal. What had happened? Had something gone wrong with the dessert?

Molly charged into the kitchen, looking furious, disbelieving and on the verge of tears.

"Look what that foolish…" She trailed off, at a loss for words. "Look!" she said at last, and shoved a piece of paper in front of Arthur.

He read it. Then he read it again. Charlie paused in helping himself to another spoonful of firewhiskey-less cranberry sauce to watch this apprehensively.

"What have they done now?" he asked. "Found another Animagus lurking in under Ron's bed?"

"It's not the twins this time," Arthur said slowly. "It's Harry. He says he's given us eighty Galleons."

* * *

"Sal? Are you feeling all right? You don't look well at all." Elizabeth Perks worriedly studied her daughter's unusually pale face and the bruise-like shadows under her eyes.

"I'm fine, Mum," Sally-Anne reassured her. "Just a little tired."

"Are you sure you're well enough to go back to that school? Maddie across the road told me yesterday that a flu's going around. Maybe you've caught it. The school wouldn't be happy if we let you go back and you passed it on to all the other students. I don't suppose you know their phone number so we could ask them?"

"Mum, they don't even _have_ phones!" Sally-Anne shook her head in mock-despair. She'd tried explaining this dozens of times, but her parents persisted in thinking that Hogwarts was just like a normal school only with magic. "I'm fine. Really!"

Her mother continued to look unconvinced. Sally-Anne sighed. "I'll go to bed early tonight."

"I think you should go to bed right now."

* * *

 _Tom, I have strange nightmares every night now, and I feel so tired all the time! Do you think I'm sick?_

If Tom had a body or a face to speak of, he would have frowned. He hadn't realised he was draining the girl so fast. He would have to reduce the amount of energy he took from her or she wouldn't live long enough to return to Hogwarts.

 _ **I wouldn't worry about it, Sally-Anne. Everyone feels ill at some point.**_

* * *

The week after Christmas, two days before the other students were due to return, Harry and Draco found themselves standing in front of the gargoyle, waiting for someone to come along and tell them Dumbledore's password.

"Are you coming to see my godfather, too?" Harry asked after they'd waited for ten minutes and no one had come along.

Draco shook her head. "No, I'm going to see my aunt. Normally we visit her at Christmas, but we couldn't this year so I'm going now."

Harry remembered hearing about this aunt a few times. "Would she mind if I visited her too after I see Mr. Black?"

A funny look crossed Draco's face. "I don't know. I'll ask her, but she's a bit… strange. She's your godfather's cousin, actually."

"Really?" This was the first Harry had heard of this. "Hey, that means we're sort of related!"

"We're distant cousins," Draco told him. "Your grandmother was my mother's grandfather's sister."

Harry tried to work this out. "So… does that make you my niece?"

"Not exactly. It means you're-"

"Mr. Potter! Miss Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall had appeared. "Why are you standing in the hallways?"

"Mr. Lupin is taking us to St. Mungo's, but we don't know the password to get into the Headmaster's office," Harry explained.

"I see. It's 'ice mice', and please don't cause any trouble in St. Mungo's."

* * *

"Do you want to meet my godfather?" Harry asked Draco as they followed Remus down the hospital's hallway.

Draco looked at him curiously. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't want to visit him."

"Oh, I want to visit him," he said hurriedly. "I just… I'd like someone else to be there when I do."

"Your friend will be there." She nodded in Remus's direction.

"Yes, but he doesn't count. I mean, it's great he's here, but he knows Mr. Black and they'll want to talk to each other, and I won't know what to say." Harry didn't mention his deepest fear: that Mr. Black would want nothing to do with him once he found out he was a Slytherin. If worst came to worst, he was sure Draco could handle him much better than he could.

"We're here," Remus said, stopping outside a door. "Miss Malfoy, are you coming with Harry and I or will you visit your aunt?"

Draco hesitated. "I'll come with you."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Remus knocked at the door.

"Come in," someone said.

Remus pushed the door open and gestured for the two students to enter first. Harry pushed away the fears that crowded into his mind and stepped into the room.

Mr. Black looked much better than when Harry saw him after Pettigrew's trial. For one thing, he was actually conscious this time. His eyes were still sunken and ringed with dark circles, but he had put on some weight and his hair was neatly combed. He smiled widely when he saw Harry.

"Pronglet!" he cried.

Harry hesitated. Who or what was "Pronglet"?

Remus came to the rescue. "Sirius, you know he doesn't remember that nickname," he said reprovingly.

Mr. Black's face fell. Harry hastily said the first thing that came to mind, hoping to break up what was turning into an awkward silence.

"Hello, Mr. Black," he said. "I'm Harry. Er, I suppose you knew that already…" He had the uncomfortable feeling he'd just made the situation ten times more awkward.

" _Mr. Black_?!" his godfather yelped. "Moony, did you – He called me – What the-" He made an obvious effort to speak coherently. "Please don't call me that, Prong – I mean, Harry. Just call me Sirius."

It seemed very disrespectful to call a stranger by their first name, but if that was what he wanted, Harry would oblige.

He suddenly remembered Draco, who spent this entire exchange lingering in the doorway. "This is Draco, Mr. Bl – Sirius. She's my best friend."

"Pleased to meet you," Draco said neutrally, staring at Mr. Black. At _Sirius_ , dammit! Sirius returned the favour.

"You must be Narcissa's daughter," he said at last.

Draco nodded.

Sirius turned back to Harry. "Why don't you tell me about Hogwarts? Have you played any pranks?"

"It wasn't a prank, but I turned a cauldron into a boat…" Harry launched into the Tale of the Floating Cauldron.

* * *

Sirius didn't bat an eyelid at the revelation Harry was in Slytherin – in fact, it turned out he already knew – and he laughed uproariously when Harry told him about the bet. Draco stayed out of the conversation except to add her side of the story in the recitation of the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match. All things considered, the visit went very well.

The same couldn't be said of the visit to Draco's aunt, who for some mysterious reason glared at Harry as if he was responsible for everything that went wrong in the world and very pointedly refused to acknowledge his existence. He couldn't understand what he'd done to offend her; he was on his best behaviour and didn't speak unless Draco spoke to him.

Harry was glad when Remus took them back to Hogwarts. He felt like he could sleep for a month if they'd let him. No one had ever told him visiting people was so exhausting!

Draco kept glancing over at him then looking away. After a while it started to get on his nerves. Had he accidentally said or done something Wizarding society frowned upon? Had the twins played a time-delayed prank on him?

"What's wrong?" he asked as they walked down to the Slytherin common room. "Why do you keep looking at me?"

"About Aunt Bella…" Draco hesitated. "Don't be offended at how she behaved. She's… odd. Mother says she never really grew up."

Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for Miss Black. That must be why she was in St. Mungo's. "I didn't mind much," he said. "At least she didn't call me names. Do you think anything exciting will happen before school starts again?"

Draco went along with the change of subject. "I certainly hope not. And no, I will not make another bet with you over it. You might decide to swap the Ravenclaw dormitories with the Hufflepuff ones or free all the house-elves to win, and I do not want to tell Father I lost another eighty Galleons."

* * *

Nothing exciting happened for days, then weeks, and then months. Late February arrived before something exciting finally happened. It all started when Hermione, Ron and Neville decided to pay Hagrid a visit.

"Hello, Hagrid!" Ron shouted cheerfully as he pushed open the door.

Hagrid leapt to his feet and stumbled over to stand in front of the fireplace.

"Why, er, 'ello there," the gamekeeper stammered, looking as guilty as a toddler caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "Didn' think I'd see yeh today."

Ron and Neville blinked, taken aback at this bizarre reception.

"Are we interrupting something?" Neville asked.

Hermione's suspicions were immediately raised. "What don't you want us to see, Hagrid?"

Hagrid looked even guiltier. "Nothin'!"

"It's not another three-headed dog, is it?" Ron's voice quavered. "The last one nearly ate us!"

"'Ad to give Fluffy away," Hagrid said sadly. "Couldn' keep 'im 'ere now the you-know-what's not 'ere."

Hermione took advantage of his distraction to move to the side of the room. She stopped abruptly and her mouth dropped open. "…Oh."

"I don't like the sound of that "oh"," Ron said. "What is it, Hermione? It's not-" he gulped "-a _spider_ , is it?"

"'Ere, who told yeh about Aragog?" Hagrid demanded.

The students ignored him. Neville and Ron stared at Hermione. Hermione stared at the fireplace with a dumbstruck expression.

"Hermione!" Neville whimpered, backing towards the door. "Tell us what it is!"

The Ravenclaw snapped out of her daze. "It's an egg."

Ron scowled. "An egg? You got us thinking there was some horrible monster about to eat us, and now you tell us it's an _egg_? Did you think that was funny?"

"I think it's a dragon egg."

The Gryffindor's anger dissipated. Shock and horror replaced it. "A dragon egg? Merlin's beard, Hagrid, what are you doing with a dragon egg? It's illegal to have one of them!"

"I'm goin' ter hatch 'im," Hagrid said, "an' anyone who objects will 'ave ter come an' take 'im away themselves!"

Neville gaped at him. "Hagrid, you can't hatch a dragon in here! It'll burn the place down! You'll get arrested!"

"How did you get a dragon egg, anyway?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Found 'im over the weekend. Just opened me door and there 'e was, sittin' on me doorstep. Couldn't find who left 'im. They didn't even leave a note."

"You think a human left it?" Hermione's suspicions deepened. Who went around leaving dragon's eggs on people's doorsteps?

"Must 'ave been. No dragon would ever abandon an egg. Some young 'oodlum must 'ave stolen 'im from the nest while 'is mummy were away an' panicked when they realised what it were."

Neville frowned. "I didn't think dragons lived in Scotland anymore."

"No one's ever been able ter find one, but I wouldn' be surprised if there were dozens of 'em wanderin' around. Yeh wouldn' believe how good they are at avoidin' notice."

"Well, it's been nice seeing you again, Hagrid, but we have to go now," Hermione announced. "Come on, boys."

She grabbed Ron's and Neville's hands and dragged them towards the door.

"Yeh won't tell any o' the professors, will yeh?" Hagrid asked worriedly. "It'll get back ter Dumbledore, an' he'll want poor Norbert taken off ter one of them dragon sanctuaries."

"Norbert?" Neville echoed. "Is that what you'll call it?"

"Aye. Thought it sounded nice. Yeh won't tell?"

He was so obviously upset at the prospect of his new pet being taken away before it even hatched that Neville didn't have the heart to refuse him.

"No," the Hufflepuff said reluctantly. "We won't tell."

Ron exploded the moment they were out of hearing range. "WE WON'T TELL? He's keeping a bloody dragon in a wooden house, and you promised we wouldn't tell?!"

"Keep your voice down," Hermione hissed. "Yelling the news to the entire castle isn't the best way to keep that promise."

The Gryffindor glared accusingly at her. "You 'Claws are supposed to be so smart. Can't you see how stupid this is?"

"Of course I can. But the egg won't hatch for a few days."

"Who made you an expert on dragon eggs?"

"No one," she admitted, "but I'm going to hope the egg won't hatch for a few days. Anyway, there's something fishy about this. I think someone left that egg there on purpose. Why? No one just goes around finding dragon's eggs and leaving them on someone's doorstep."

"Maybe it was Quirrell," Neville suggested.

"Unlikely. He's been gone for nearly two months. Hagrid said he found that egg over the weekend."

Silence fell as everyone considered possible suspects. Pettigrew was in Azkaban, and the twins probably wouldn't use an actual dragon egg for a prank, if only because they were too afraid of what Charlie would say when he heard. The list of likely culprits was annoyingly short. In fact, there were no names on it at all.

"I think we should tell someone," Neville said.

Ron snorted. "Nice of you to think that after you just promised-"

"I promised we wouldn't tell Dumbledore or any of the teachers," Neville pointed out. "I didn't promise we wouldn't tell Harry."

"And what do you think he can do?" Hermione asked. "He's a first year too."

"But he's a Slytherin." Neville said this as if it explained everything. "He'll think of something we didn't."


	20. Chapter 20: Hagrid's New Pet

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, especially Ern Erstine 13624 and gr8rockstarrox.**

 **This chapter was supposed to be longer and the Chamber of Secrets storyline wasn't supposed to start for another two chapters, but it insisted on happening now. Hence the cliffhanger. Is it really a cliffhanger when everyone knows who's responsible?**

* * *

 **Chapter 20: Hagrid's New Pet**

 _Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives._ **\- Oscar Wilde,** _ **The Picture of Dorian Gray**_

"A dragon egg?" Harry wasn't sure he'd heard right. "Hagrid has a dragon egg?"

Neville nodded. "Someone left it on his doorstep and he wants to hatch it."

"…I think you'd better sit down," Harry said dazedly.

The other three students sat down at the table in the library he'd commandeered for work on his Charms essay. He used the momentary silence to gather his thoughts.

"Someone gave Hagrid a dragon egg. Dragons breathe fire. Owning one is illegal. He wants to hatch it. In a wooden house. And he thinks he can keep it hidden. Doesn't he see the obvious problems with that plan?"

"Nope," Ron grumbled. "I tried to tell him, but would he listen to me? Of course not! Bloody idiot, just see if I try to help him again…"

Harry ignored the Gryffindor's disgruntled mutterings. "But who would hate Hagrid enough to get him in so much trouble? I mean, he could be arrested over this!"

"Maybe it's not Hagrid the person wants to get in trouble," Hermione said, drumming her fingers on the table and frowning thoughtfully. "It wouldn't look too good for Dumbledore if it's discovered the groundskeeper has a dangerous animal on the school grounds, would it?"

The four first years fell silent. It didn't take a genius to see what would happen if this got out. Parents would panic and insist on Dumbledore firing Hagrid. They might even want the school closed. It would be a complete and utter disaster.

"Charlie!" Ron exclaimed suddenly, with the air of someone who'd made the greatest discovery in history.

"Quiet!" everyone hissed, looking around in horror.

Madam Pince didn't immediately appear round any of the bookshelves and throw them out for daring to talk in the library. They waited apprehensively for several minutes. Still no sign of the dreaded librarian. At last they relaxed enough to return to their conversation.

"Who's Charlie?" Hermione asked.

"My brother. He works with dragons. He could Floo over and take Norbert to Romania before he even hatches!"

The other three latched onto this idea enthusiastically.

"Great!" Harry exclaimed. "You can call him when you go back to the Tower and arrange when it'll happen, and we can convince Hagrid to let us use his Floo. No one will ever know there was a dragon here, and whoever left it will be very disappointed!"

"And Hagrid won't lose his home," Hermione said, imagining Hagrid's hut going up in flames when Norbert breathed fire for the first time.

"And Norbert will have lots of dragon aunts and uncles," Neville added. Then he paused. "We'll need permission to use a Floo. What excuse will we make?"

Hermione said dismissively, "We can use Hagrid's Floo."

Harry shook his head, thinking quickly. "Hagrid won't want Norbert to go. He wouldn't let us use the Floo if he knew who we were calling and why." He paused. "You three promised not to tell any teachers, but I didn't. I'll go to Professor Snape and tell him what's happening."

"SNAPE?!" his friends gasped. Even Hermione was so shocked she forgot to speak quietly.

The Slytherin nodded. "He'll have to help us."

"But what if he gave Hagrid the egg in the first place?" Neville looked like he might faint on the spot.

"Don't be stupid. Why would Professor Snape give Hagrid a dragon egg? Where would he even get a dragon egg? Somehow I don't think you can buy them in pet shops." Harry had a sudden vision of the Head of Slytherin visiting a pet shop filled with dangerous magical creatures. He fought back his giggles at the image.

Hermione folded her arms and looked as stern as a frizzy-haired eleven-year-old with ink stains permanently decorating her face and hands could look. "He's a Potions Master. I'm sure he could get all sorts of things other people couldn't."

Harry's patience began to fray. "Yes, but _why_ would he? Why do something like this to get Hagrid in trouble? They've both been here for years; I bet if Snape really wanted Hagrid gone he could tell the police – I mean, Aurors - about some other dangerous animal Hagrid's kept as a pet. He wouldn't have to get a dragon egg."

* * *

Severus scowled and slashed his pen across the entire paragraph. There were times when he really thought the brats – ahem, students – were actually _trying_ to be as stupid as possible. Case in point: a Hufflepuff fifth year who claimed Polyjuice Potion was a form of Self-Transfiguration. The fact it had the word "Potion" in its name should have tipped them off to the fact it had nothing to do with Transfiguration.

' _Atrocious,_ ' he wrote at the end of the essay. ' _Clearly nothing I have said for the last five years has made it through your thick skull._ '

He was about to add a few pointed comments comparing the unfortunate student's intelligence to a troll's when someone knocked at the door. He almost hoped it was Minerva; it would be amusing to see her face when she found out someone thought there was any connection between her subject and his.

It wasn't Minerva. It was Harry.

"Hello, Professor," the boy said, suddenly looking nervous. "I have to tell you something."

That didn't bode well. What outrageous prank had he pulled? At least he showed some remorse for it, unlike his wretched father, or he wouldn't be here.

"Come in," Severus ordered.

Potter was scarcely in the door before he began talking at a speed that would put Granger to shame. "Hagrid has a dragon egg and we're going to call Ron's brother and get him to take it so can we use your Floo, please, sir?"

Severus barely restrained himself from storming out of the room and telling Albus that Hagrid had done it again – and outdone himself this time. Really, a dragon egg?

As much as he hated to compliment a Potter, the boy showed more sense than Hagrid. Thank heavens he wasn't a Gryffindor, or he'd have waited until the egg hatched to come up with some hare-brained scheme to send it to a dragon preserve. It would probably have turned him into a well-cooked snack.

"What sort of dragon is it?" he asked. If it was one of the larger ones it wouldn't hatch for a while. If it was a small one it might have hatched before Charlie Weasley heard about it. Of course, that depended on how long Hagrid had it…

"I don't know. Sir," Potter added belatedly. "Just that Hagrid calls it Norbert."

Severus didn't know why he was surprised. The oaf thought "Fluffy" was a good name for a three-headed hellhound (and according to Minerva he called a perfectly normal but extremely cowardly dog "Fang"). Naturally he'd call a dragon "Norbert".

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"No, sir." He gave away the lie by focusing his gaze on the floor immediately after speaking.

Damn it. Someone else knew about it, and the fact Potter was the only one here meant it wasn't a Slytherin.

"Five points from Slytherin for lying to a teacher." The brat winced. "Who else knows?"

"Only Hermione, Neville and Ron."

If those three knew about it, then he could safely assume half the school and all of Gryffindor knew by now. Severus would never understand children. Tell them a trivial secret like what someone's favourite colour was, and they kept it for years. Tell them an important secret like "the groundskeeper has a dragon egg", and they'd tell everyone they met. All he could hope for now was to get the dragon egg safely sent to Romania before the Board of Governors heard of it.

"They won't tell anyone, sir," Potter said, apparently guessing his thoughts. "They promised Hagrid they wouldn't."

"I will believe a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff capable of keeping a secret when I see the evidence of it, not before."

* * *

Charlie had had a long night. First, a Swedish Shortsnout and a Cuban Barbclaw started a fight. It took six wizards shooting Stunners at them simultaneously to calm them down. Then a nest of Canadian Warptooths hatched and everyone gathered at a safe distance from the mother to coo over them, despite the fact it was past midnight. Finally, an Italian Shortpaw developed a cold. Charlie and three others, Janus Bertram, Gunhilda Sigrunardóttir and Demeter Hadley, had an exciting time bringing it to the reserve's main building so a Healer could see it.

After all that he was determined not to wake up until noon. He'd been doing very well at carrying out that resolution, but at half-eleven something happened.

" _Aguamenti_!"

Charlie woke up abruptly to find himself, his quilt and his pillow soaking wet. He said a few words that his mother would definitely not approve of.

"All right, what bastard did that?" he spluttered, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Be glad you're no longer a student, or I would deduct points for your language," an all-too-familiar voice said.

Charlie finally noticed the fire was glowing green.

"Oh, uhm, hello, Professor," he said, feeling like a first-year again. "…What's wrong?"

Try as he might, he couldn't think of any reason Snape would be Flooing him. A teacher would Floo his parents when the twins inevitably pranked someone, but why in Merlin's name would they call _him_?

"I need you to take a dragon egg."

Huh. That wasn't what Charlie expected. What was Snape doing with a dragon egg, anyway? Had some not-too-bright student smuggled it in?

"What sort of dragon is it?" he asked, setting aside the mystery for the moment.

"I don't know. Hagrid found it." Ah. That explained everything. "We want to send it to the preserve before it hatches."

Charlie did some mental calculations. It was a pity they didn't know what sort of dragon it was. Three female dragons were nesting at the moment. The head of the preserve could find some way to give the egg to one of them, as long as the different types of dragonlings wouldn't try to quite literally bite each other's heads off once they hatched.

"Do you have the egg with you now?"

"No. Hagrid has it."

Charlie grinned wryly. "Am I right in thinking he doesn't know you're about to send it to Romania?"

"He doesn't know _yet_."

* * *

"I don't think it's right," Harry said stubbornly.

Professor Snape looked ready to throttle him. "We agreed that Hagrid would not be willing to give up his pet. We do not have time to argue with him. The simplest way to deal with this situation is for you to convince him to leave his house while I call Mr. Weasley and give him the egg."

"But Hagrid will think someone's kidnapped Norbert!"

"We will simply tell him what's happened after it's a _fait accompli_. It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission, as every Slytherin should know."

Harry pouted. This plan didn't seem very good. All right, so it was the Slytherin thing to do, but how would Hagrid ever trust him again?

"What will I tell him?" he asked, admitting defeat.

"Tell him anything, as long as it involves a dangerous animal. Tell him an Acromantula has wandered onto the Quidditch pitch or something equally ridiculous."

Harry sighed and set off towards Hagrid's hut. This was the best, easiest plan they could think of. What did it matter if it involved lying to his first friend, the person who first introduced him to the Wizarding world?

Hagrid greeted him with a jovial, "'Ello, 'Arry! Yeh'll never guess what I've got!"

Harry forced a smile. "Hello, Hagrid. I-"

It was for the best. He was lying to Hagrid for his own good. He was – Oh, damn it. He couldn't do this.

"I know about Norbert."

The groundskeeper beamed. "Did yer friends tell yeh? Well, yeh would 'ave found out event'ally. Come on in an' see 'im. Of course, 'e 'asn't hatched yet, but-"

"Hagrid, you have to send Norbert to Romania."

"Eh?" Hagrid blinked.

"Ron's brother Charlie works on a dragon preserve. Norbert will be happy there. He'll have lots of other dragons for company."

Hagrid looked thoroughly confused by now. Harry realised he wouldn't give in to this sort of argument, so he used another. When his conscience protested, he quietened it by thinking, _It's all right because I'm not lying._

"Owning a dragon is illegal, Hagrid. You could lose your job. And if you keep Norbert until he hatches, one of the other students might see him, panic, and Dumbledore might end up losing his job."

Hagrid looked stricken. "Yeh must be mistaken, 'Arry. Dumbledore couldn't lose his job because of Norbert!"

"I assure you, he could," Professor Snape said, appearing from the side of the house. He gave Harry a look that said plainly, 'Count yourself lucky if I don't turn you into Potions ingredients'. "Do you want to be responsible for that?"

"No! O' course not!"

"Then _Norbert_ -" Harry got the impression Snape was rolling his eyes. "-will have to go."

* * *

After a great deal of blubbering from Hagrid and an equal amount of manipulation and emotional blackmail from the two Slytherins, Hagrid finally let Professor Snape call Charlie. The two Slytherins and one former Gryffindor then had to spend half an hour convincing Hagrid that yes, Norbert would be perfectly happy in the preserve, yes, Charlie would send photos, and yes, he could visit if he wanted to.

At long last Professor Snape pushed the dragon egg through the Floo, Charlie caught it and promised to take excellent care of Norbert once he hatched, and Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback – that was the sort of dragon he was, according to Charlie – was safely away from Hogwarts.

Hagrid promptly burst into tears. Harry flinched and resisted the urge to cover his ears.

"Stop this absurd wailing," Professor Snape snapped. "Your precious dragon will be fine, and-"

The door flew open. Draco stormed in, her hair as wild as Harry's, looking like a Dementor was after her. Harry gaped at her. He'd never seen his friend look so untidy. That, more than anything she could say, meant that something was Very Wrong.

"We've looked everywhere for you, Professor," she gasped.

"What's happened now?" Professor Snape looked almost as alarmed as Draco.

By now the Malfoy heir had recovered enough to speak clearly. "There's a message written in blood on the second floor wall."

"In blood?!" Harry yelped, at the same time as Snape said, "What does it say?"

"The prefects wouldn't let the first or second years see it, but Flint said it says, 'Enemies of the Heir, beware'."


	21. Chapter 21: Enemies of the Heir, Beware!

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed! I don't have the time to reply to every review, but I read them all :D**

 **Dumbledore and the teachers seemed to have come down with a severe case of Plot-Induced Idiocy for most of** _ **Chamber of Secrets**_ **. Okay, so they didn't know for sure what was in the Chamber, but Slytherin is associated with snakes and students are being petrified, so all they had to do was find out if there was a snake that could petrify people, realise it was a Basilisk, and buy a few roosters.** _ **Voila**_ **, problem solved with no need for Harry to go down to the Chamber. So I've decided to have the teachers act a bit more sensibly.**

 **A note about Tom: my headcanon is that since he made the diary Horcrux when he was sixteen, and it's unlikely a sixteen-year-old student would be as psychopathic as a sixty-something Dark Lord, diary!Tom wouldn't be quite as cruel as Voldemort became. It's probably not canon, but headcanons usually aren't.**

* * *

 **Chapter 21: Enemies of the Heir, Beware**

 _Rummaging in our souls, we often dig up something that ought to have lain there unnoticed._ **\- Leo Tolstoy,** _ **Anna Karenina**_

The teachers stared at the message in silence. The students had long since been packed off to their dormitories, and no doubt they were now exchanging weird and wonderful theories about who wrote the message and what it meant.

'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware.' It would be hard to find two sentences more likely to strike terror into the teachers' hearts. Hagrid and Dumbledore were the only ones who had been at the school during the last incident, but everyone had heard of it.

"What should we do, Albus?" Filius asked at last.

The Headmaster sighed, looking every year of his age. "There is nothing we can do, short of giving Veritaserum to everyone who has set foot in the castle since Christmas. We can only take precautions and hope the culprit is caught before someone dies. I believe having the students carry mirrors for the foreseeable future would prevent deaths."

A few teachers gave him bewildered looks. Their thoughts were written over their faces: _How can mirrors stop anyone dying?_

There was usually a method in Albus's madness (although half the Wizarding world might say there was madness in his methods), so Severus started trying to figure it out. Albus thought mirrors would stop the students being killed. That meant he thought the monster was vulnerable to mirrors. A Gorgon, perhaps? No, there was no record of Salazar Slytherin having anything to do with Gorgons. They were too human, anyway. The monster must be some sort of snake or something snake-like.

Were any sorts of snakes vulnerable to mirrors? Wait a minute; Albus must be mistaken. Myrtle died in a bathroom, where there were plenty of mirrors. Unless…

Oh. Oh, _no_. When questioned, Myrtle said she saw yellow eyes as she died. What sort of creature could give someone a literal death glare? A basilisk. What happened if the victim saw its eyes in a reflection? They were petrified but not killed.

Severus had always been inclined to believe Slytherin's reputation had been distorted over time, but at the revelation that _the Founder kept a basilisk in a school_ , he had to wonder if everyone else's opinion was right. A basilisk wasn't even an effective weapon; its eyes would kill anyone unfortunate enough to look at it, not just Muggleborns.

"Who could it be?" Minerva was saying. "It can't be Quirrell and He-Who-Must – oh, all right, _Voldemort_. They wouldn't dare come back here so soon."

"I am certain it is Voldemort, but _how_ he has reopened the Chamber when he appears to have dropped off the face of the Earth is a mystery."

"Perfesser Dumbledore!"

The teachers winced. Hagrid never seemed to realise that what to him was speaking loudly was to them nearly deafening.

 _Don't tell me he's figured out what Slytherin's monster is and now wants to keep it as a pet,_ Severus thought as the half-giant lumbered towards them.

"Some 'un's killed 'em!" the groundskeeper gasped.

An awful vision of Draco and Harry lying dead struck Severus with the force of the Hogwarts Express. He promptly shoved it to the back of his mind. He'd taken them back to the Slytherin common room before coming here, after all.

"Who's been killed?" Minerva demanded, looking terrified.

"Me chickens! Some 'un's come an' cut the poor things' heads off! I was wonderin' why they weren't squawkin' and when I went out they was dead!"

That proved the basilisk theory. Whoever the Heir was, they didn't want to take the risk of their pet being killed.

* * *

Only years of hiding his real thoughts and emotions kept Tom in Sally-Anne's body from lashing out at the Hufflepuffs who crowded around him. The whole lot of them, even the sixth and seventh years, were trying to reassure each other that the message on the wall was just a practical joke in spectacularly bad taste. They couldn't see how their actions only revealed their vulnerabilities. It was sickening. It was so sentimental it made his teeth rot. Tom consoled himself with the knowledge that he now could manipulate the entire House as soon as he got a body of his own.

"Are you all right, Sally?" Hannah Abbott asked, sitting down next to him. "You look terrible."

Sally-Anne stirred at the back of his mind, struggling to regain control. She was getting weaker and weaker as his hold over her continued. He didn't expect her to survive till the end of term. It was almost a pity. She drove him insane with her maudlin, everyday worries and her descriptions of how handsome various boys were, but he'd gotten used to her being around. If it was possible he would like to take her with him when he regained his body, but that was impossible. She must die or he would be trapped like this, tied to the diary, until someone else foolish enough to write in it came along.

It was a pity she wasn't a Pureblood, or he would have insisted she give the diary away and she wouldn't have to die.

"I'm fine," he said. Even he couldn't tell if it was a lie.

This would all be over soon. Dumbledore would have to leave Hogwarts at some point when Hagrid was discovered with that dragon egg. He could take Sally-Anne down to the Chamber then.

* * *

A hush descended on the Slytherin common room when Professor Snape entered. The only time Draco had ever seen him look so grim was during Pettigrew's questioning.

"Is everyone here?" he asked Flint.

The prefect nodded. "We've checked twice, once before Potter came back and once after."

"Good." The Head of Slytherin turned to the crowd of gathered students. "As no doubt you all know by now, someone has written a message in blood on the second floor wall. The message claims that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. If you don't know what that is, I advise you find out quickly. If you do know, then you can guess why Professor Dumbledore is taking precautions to ensure your safety."

A few people snorted – very quietly. The sense of dread that hung over the other Houses had affected even the Slytherins.

"From now on, you will go everywhere in groups. No one is allowed to set foot outside the portrait unless they are accompanied by a teacher or at least three students." He paused. "No one knows what sort of monster is in the Chamber, so no one knows what is effective against it specifically, but it would be wise for at least one person in each group to take a mirror with them everywhere they go."

* * *

Sally-Anne woke up the next morning with no memory of what happened yesterday and feeling sick to her stomach. This had happened with alarming frequency since coming back to Hogwarts. Horrible scenes flashed across her memory, scenes of cutting a chicken's head off and writing something in its blood. Her gaze fell on the innocuous-looking diary sitting beside her bed. Not for the first time, doubt took root in her mind. For the first time, she acted on that doubt.

These blackouts and strange memory losses had only started after she found the diary. It was just possible there was a connection. She would tell someone about what was happening, and if it had nothing to do with Tom, she could apologise for suspecting him and find out what was really to blame.

She refused to think of the possibility it had everything to do with Tom. He was her friend. He'd never do anything to harm her.

Her thoughts filtered through the mental link they now shared, rousing Tom from his sleep. He listened in horror. If she handed the diary over to any of the teachers, all would be lost. He had to manipulate her without raising her suspicions any more. He had to ensure she wouldn't go to a teacher. At the same time he could ensure he met Harry Potter. He'd wanted to meet this so-called Boy-Who-Lived ever since Sally-Anne mentioned him and his supposed defeat of Lord Voldemort.

 _Why bother the teachers about it?_ he whispered, subtly influencing her to do his will while making it seem like it was all her idea. _You'd feel so silly if you were wrong. Why not ask another student?_

 _What would a student know about this?_ she thought, quite sensibly.

Tom increased the amount of influence he had over her. It tired him so soon after possessing her, but he couldn't afford to have a spanner thrown in the works now. Not when he was so close to success. Even now he could feel her growing weaker and him growing stronger (and if that made him feel a strange twinge somewhere around where his chest would be if he had a body, it was obviously because he could feel her weakness through their link).

 _Why not ask Harry Potter? He defeated You-Know-Who. He's a Slytherin; if anyone can tell a Dark object when they see one, it's a Slytherin._

Sally-Anne wavered on the verge of giving in. Tom continued, knowing that if he pushed just a little bit harder she would do what he wanted.

 _And imagine writing to your parents and telling them you've talked to the Wizarding world's greatest celebrity._

She gave in.

* * *

Slytherin shared History of Magic with Hufflepuff. The Slytherins coped with this by pretending the Hufflepuffs didn't exist. On the rare occasions they acknowledged their existence, they pretended that they were condescending to allow an inferior House the honour of sharing a lesson with them, even one as boring as History of Magic. The Hufflepuffs refused to be daunted and always greeted the Slytherins with sunny smiles and attempted to engage them in conversation on everything from Quidditch to the weather.

Draco had a decent education in History of Magic, courtesy of her parents knowing from painful experience how atrocious Binns was. Being a Malfoy, she had convinced herself she had forgotten more than Binns ever knew – which was entirely possible, if you were talking about the history of _Dark_ Magic, but self-delusion if you meant any other kind. She had a set routine for each lesson. First, she bargained with Daphne Greengrass on the way to class over which of them would take notes this time. If she agreed to humour Daphne (because it was just ridiculous to think of a Malfoy _losing_ at anything, except bets with scar-headed Potters), she spent the lesson bored to death while Daphne dozed or daydreamed. If she won, Daphne spent the lesson bored to death while Draco dozed or daydreamed.

This lesson deviated slightly from the norm from the moment Draco walked in to find a Mud – er, Muggleborn – Hufflepuff sitting next to Harry in _her_ seat. She glared at the presumptuous seat-stealer. The little upstart hadn't even the decency to notice. She was too busy talking to Harry. Draco sank into the seat in front of them, next to a surprised Blaise, and listened with all her might to hear what they were whispering about. Binns droned on in the background, making it hard to hear anything they said. She didn't turn round to watch what they were doing because that would make her eavesdropping blinding obvious.

She distinctly heard Harry say, "I think you should see Madam Pomfrey," and then the conversation seemed to be over.

Draco waited impatiently for the end of class. What in Salazar's name could Harry have been talking to that Hufflepuff about? Why did he think she should see Madam Pomfrey?

* * *

Sally-Anne followed Harry's advice and made her way towards the Hospital Wing as soon as Binns finally finished. Tom used just enough control over her to ensure she slipped away from her housemates as they congregated into groups. He waited until she was close to the Chamber entrance before possessing her fully.

" _Open_ ," he hissed at the tap, ignoring Myrtle's wails somewhere in the distance.

If the basilisk petrified a few students, everyone would think that Sally-Anne had been petrified in some out-of-the-way corner of the castle when she disappeared. They wouldn't think to start searching for the entrance to the Chamber until he had a chance to get away. He couldn't leave at once, though. He wanted to find out more about Harry Potter. There was something odd about the boy. If he didn't know better, he'd say being around him felt like being around the Diadem Horcrux in the Room of Requirement…

The Diadem Horcrux! He couldn't leave it there; if anyone stumbled upon it the consequences would be disastrous. Two animated Horcruxes and Voldemort himself running around Britain would inevitably end in them fighting over which one was "really" Lord Voldemort. Tom would have to either lock it up where no one could find it or find some way to merge with it.

He opened the main gate to the Chamber, Harry Potter temporarily forgotten.

* * *

Theo, Blaise and Harry were on their way to the library, mirrors in hand, when it happened. Harry stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway.

"Listen!" he said.

The other two Slytherins listened.

"Listen to what?" Blaise asked, annoyed. "I don't hear anything."

"But – that voice – there it is again!" Harry started to run back the way they'd come. "Can't you hear it?"

Theo and Blaise exchanged worried glances. Neither of them could hear anything. Was their friend going mad?

"Harry, there's nothing there," Theo said, running after him. "You must be imagining-"

"But I'm not! It's saying it's hungry and it wants to kill but someone won't let it! Don't you hear it? It's on the other side of the wall!"

That confirmed their worst fears.

"Harry, there's no room on the other side of that wall," Blaise said, as calmly as he could. "It's part of the wall around the teachers' gardens. Let's go back to the dormitory. I think you need rest."

"I'm not mad!" Harry said angrily. "It's gone now, but it _was_ there!"

Theo and Blaise each took one of his arms and frog-marched him down the corridor, completely ignoring his complaints and protestations. The three of them rounded the corner and froze.

Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater stood next to the wall in the hall in front of them, looking at a handheld mirror with expressions of shock and horror on their faces. That would have been odd enough on its own, since there was nothing behind them, but there was something even worse about them.

They weren't moving.


	22. Chapter 22: Harry Does Something Stupid

**A/N: I think everyone who reads this is going to be very upset with this chapter's ending. Unfortunately, it was the only ending that worked. Please don't murder me.**

 **Myrtle is a surprisingly hard character to write, so I'm sorry if she seems out-of-character. Sadly, there's no sign of Draco, but I couldn't think of a way to include her.**

* * *

 **Chapter 22: In Which Harry Does Something Very Stupid**

 _COMPROMISE, n. Such an adjustment of conflicting interests as gives each adversary the satisfaction of thinking he has got what he ought not to have, and is deprived of nothing except what was justly his due._ **– Ambrose Bierce,** _ **The Devil's Dictionary**_

"Professor Snape!"

Severus stared at the three Slytherins racing towards him in surprise. Nott and Zabini looked terrified, and Potter looked… dazed. That was the only word to describe it. He looked like he'd seen something he couldn't fully comprehend.

Wait a minute. He seemed to recall telling the students to travel in groups of no less than four.

"Did I or did I not tell you-" he began.

Nott interrupted him, gasping for breath. "Two of the prefects – we found them – hallway – petrified – Harry heard a voice but we couldn't hear anything!"

Damn it. _At least the mirrors worked,_ he thought with a sort of grim relief. And apparently, Potter had heard the Basilisk. It stood to reason, really. Potter was a Parselmouth, and a Basilisk was a very big, very deadly snake.

"Who has been petrified?"

"Weasley and a Ravenclaw. Clearwater, I think." Zabini's voice was remarkably level and dispassionate for an eleven-year-old who'd just seen two petrified students. Maybe he had so much practice with his stepfathers' deaths that such things no longer bothered him.

Severus wished that the horrors he'd witnessed – and, to his shame, committed – as a Death Eater would desensitize him to this sort of thing. Unfortunately, it didn't. Two students were petrified, they'd come within an inch of being killed – what if they hadn't been looking in the mirror when the Basilisk found them? – and, his life being what it was, he would probably be landed with the job of explaining to Molly and Arthur that their son had fallen victim to the Heir. How could anyone _not_ be bothered by that?

An icy cold feeling wormed its way into his chest. Harry must have heard the Basilisk leaving after petrifying its victims. If they'd been a minute or two earlier… The little idiots probably hadn't been looking in their mirrors. If they'd seen the Basilisk… Severus suddenly wanted nothing more than to lock them in the common room and refuse to let them out until the Heir was caught.

"Nott and Zabini, go back to your common room this instant and stay there until I tell you otherwise. _Do not_ turn any corners without checking the mirror first. Potter, come with me."

Harry followed him silently, staring straight ahead and looking like he couldn't fully understand what was going on.

"What did this voice you heard say?" Severus asked, partly because it might be of some help and partly to snap Harr- Potter out of this daze.

The first year looked through him more than at him. "It said something about being hungry, and it wished its master would let it kill. Where are we going, sir?"

The basilisk's master wouldn't let it kill anyone? Then what was the point of setting it loose in the first place? Was the Heir just trying to scare everyone?

Severus pushed those thoughts aside for later.

"We're going to tell the Headmaster about this."

* * *

Albus looked increasingly grave as Potter's story unfolded. When the boy finished, he said nothing for such a long time that Severus began to worry he'd fallen asleep.

He was spared from casting Aguamenti at the Headmaster (which, however amusing it might have been, would not be the sort of story he wanted the Board of Governors to hear) when Albus roused himself.

"The first thing we must do is tell Mr. Weasley's and Miss Clearwater's parents. Pomona, I believe, has her third and fourth years planting Mandrakes for the Mandrake Potion, but they won't be ready until next term." He turned to Potter. "Harry, I hesitate to ask this of you, since it will inevitably put you in some danger-"

That was all Severus needed to hear to know what his opinion of whatever Albus wanted was. "No. He will not do anything that will put him in danger."

Albus, damn him, pretended not to hear. "Since you are the only Parselmouth in Hogwarts, would you mind trying to speak to the basilisk?"

It was worse than he thought. " _No_!"

"Now, Severus-" Albus began pleadingly.

"No. Absolutely not. It is far too dangerous. If Potter looks it in the eye with a mirror, he'll be petrified. If he looks it in the eye without a mirror, he'll die."

"But if I talk to it, I could stop it petrifying people," Potter said. It was too much to hope that an eleven-year-old would see the dangers inherent in this plan. A deadly snake wandering the hallways? Great! Let me talk to it and I'll save the entire school single-handed!

…Actually, Potter being Potter, it was entirely possible that no matter what happened, his fans would insist he _had_ saved the entire school.

Severus searched for something that might make Albus listen to him. "I'll tell Minerva what you want him to do!"

Albus winced. "Now, now, there's no need for going to such lengths, my boy. Surely you agree we cannot let the basilisk stay free."

"I could tell it to go back to sleep," Potter said hopefully. "It didn't sound angry, just hungry. If we gave it food it might go back to wherever it's been sleeping and stay there."

Severus hesitated. He had to concede that the manipulative little brat made a good point. "But you're eleven. You're far too young to be around basilisks."

* * *

"I cannot believe you talked me into this," Professor Snape hissed, sounding quite like a snake himself.

"Dumbledore must have taken leave of his senses," Remus agreed.

When Professor Snape told Sirius of what Dumbledore wanted him to do, Sirius insisted that Remus come along. He said it was so he could be sure he heard the whole story properly. Harry was sure it was actually because he couldn't come and protect him himself, so he sent Remus in his place. Professor Snape came along to ensure Harry didn't do anything Gryffindorish, and that was how, late that night, the three of them came to be standing next to the wall where Harry first heard the basilisk's voice.

The first year got the feeling neither the Professor nor Remus really wanted an answer, so he didn't answer. Instead he spoke to the wall, imagining there was a basilisk behind it.

"Hello? Mr. Basilisk?" he said, and immediately felt embarrassed. He was talking to a dangerous snake to save the school, and he called it 'Mr. Basilisk'? At least the other two couldn't speak Parseltongue.

"That was in English," Professor Snape told him grumpily, shattering his hopes of preserving his dignity.

"'Mr. Basilisk'?" Remus repeated, grinning.

"…Oh." Harry's face reddened. He resolutely ignored Remus and tried to visualize the snake he spoke to at the zoo. " _Can you hear me, basilisk?_ Was that English, too?"

Remus shook his head.

The Professor looked as if he felt ill. "No, that was most certainly not English."

" _I hear you, Speaker. Who are you? You are not my master._ "

Harry almost jumped out of his skin. "D-did you hear that? It answered!"

Professor Snape paled. "What did it say?"

"It wants to know who I am." Harry imagined the friendly boa constrictor again. " _I'm Harry. Do you have a name?_ "

" _I have had many names, Speaker. My first master called me Jormungand._ "

" _Pleased to meet you, Jormungand,_ " Harry said politely. " _Why are you petrifying students?_ "

" _Are the small humans who scream these students you speak of?_ "

That struck Harry as an odd description of Percy, since while he wasn't as tall as Charlie or Bill he was still considerably taller than Harry or Ron, and he couldn't imagine the pompous Gryffindor screaming. Maybe the basilisk meant the other student. " _Er, yes_."

" _My master told me to._ "

"What's it saying?" Remus asked.

Harry suddenly remembered that his companions couldn't understand a word of the conversation. "It says its name is Jormungand and its master told it to petrify people."

"Ask it if it would stop if we gave it food," Professor Snape said.

" _Would you stop if we gave you food?_ "

" _I do not wish to disobey my master._ "

Harry repeated that in English.

Professor Snape scowled. "Tell it that either it disobeys its master or we buy a rooster."

"Severus, I don't think threatening a basilisk is a good idea," Remus said mildly. "Ask it who its master is, Harry."

" _Who is your master?_ "

The reply was distinctly odd. Apparently, basilisks didn't sense things the way humans did. Harry learned that its master's name was "Thomas" and that he had vanished for a while before returning, and – bizarrely enough – he had returned in a book (Harry assumed that was what "leather-paper-ink" meant) sharing a body with a girl. It sounded like a bad joke.

" _Where can I find him?_ " Harry asked after relaying that answer to the adults and leaving them to puzzle over it.

"You-Know-Who's real name was Tom Riddle," Remus said. "Dumbledore told everyone after what happened on Christmas Eve."

"Which only confirms what we knew all along," Professor Snape said.

Harry tried to ignore them and hear the basilisk's answer.

" _In the lair of the small humans. May I return to my rest, Speaker?_ "

" _Oh. Yes, you can. Thank you, Jormungand,_ " Harry said, then, in English, "He's gone back to sleep. He says his master is "in the lair of the small humans"."

"A dormitory?" Remus suggested.

"Or a common room. Anywhere there are a lot of students." Professor Snape frowned thoughtfully. "It must be a Slytherin. Potter, have you noticed any Slytherins acting oddly?"

Harry thought about it. "The fifth and seventh years, but they always act oddly."

Remus snorted with laughter. "Take them as a warning of what's in store when you reach fifth or seventh year."

"That is entirely beside the point," Professor Snape snapped. "Potter, since the basilisk is asleep, it's safe for you to return to your common room unaccompanied."

Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one, so he turned and headed towards the Slytherin common room. Wouldn't his friends be jealous when they heard about this?

* * *

Sally-Anne was so weak now that Tom spent most of his time semi-possessing her so no one would notice anything odd. He lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling and calculating how long she would live and how soon he would have to go to the Chamber. He'd have to abandon his original plan; she wouldn't live to the end of the week, let alone the end of the term.

He sat bolt upright with a jolt. The basilisk was speaking – and it wasn't speaking to him.

The more he heard, the more frightened and angry he became. There was another Parselmouth at Hogwarts, and someone had had the bright idea of getting them to question his basilisk. It was only a matter of time before they realised where he was hiding.

He had to finish draining Sally-Anne tonight. As soon as he reached the Chamber, in fact.

He got up, picked up the diary, and left the dormitory.

* * *

Harry's route took him past the second floor bathroom. The ominous message next to it was gone, courtesy of Mr. Filch and a few luckless Ravenclaws who had detention with him, but he still stopped and stared at the wall where it had been.

A strange sound like two stones scraping together came from the bathroom. Harry looked at the doorway in surprise. He'd heard from Hermione that no one used that bathroom anymore, so what was making that noise?

"Hello?" he called, standing at the door. He didn't want to go in, because abandoned or not, it was a _girl's_ bathroom.

A strange ghost floated into view. "What are you doing here?" she sniffled. "This is a girl's bathroom, you know!"

"Er…" Harry found himself at a loss for words. He felt extremely foolish. "I'm sorry, I heard a noise and I thought-"

"I heard a noise too," the ghost said. "There are always noises now, since that girl started visiting. Not visiting me; she just comes here on her way to somewhere else."

"Girl?" Harry repeated, surprised. So this _wasn't_ an abandoned bathroom then.

The ghost nodded. "A strange little Hufflepuff. The first time she came she said she was sorry for my death! No one's ever said that before."

A Hufflepuff?

All the pieces fell into place, just like that. Earlier today Sally-Anne Perks, a Hufflepuff he'd never spoken to before, had sat next to him in History of Magic and said that she'd found a book that wrote back, and since then there were things she couldn't remember. She'd said her book's name was Tom. Harry had thought that she was ill – she certainly looked ill – so he said she should visit Madam Pomfrey. Now… The basilisk said that his master's name was _Thomas_ and he was in a _book_ sharing a body with a _girl_ , and the ghost said a _Hufflepuff_ came through here on her way to somewhere else…

"Where does the girl go?" he asked urgently.

"I don't know," the ghost said. "I just sit here and think about death, and I hear her go over to the sink, and then a funny noise, and when I look, she's gone."

Harry forgot his reservations about entering a girl's bathroom and went over to the sink. There was a carving on one of the taps; a carving in the shape of a snake.

"Could you go to Professor Dumbledore and tell him I think I've found something?" he asked the ghost, suddenly realising he didn't know her name. Another thought occurred to him. "Has the girl been here recently?"

The ghost nodded. "She was here a few minutes before you."

Harry looked back at the carving. No one would put a design like that on a bathroom tap unless there was some reason for it.

" _Open_ ," he whispered.

The sink slid down with the grinding noise he'd heard earlier, revealing a deep hole in the floor. Harry hesitated. The Slytherin thing to do would be to get help. The Gryffindor thing to do would be to jump down and hope he didn't break his neck.

He'd never thought he was a very good Slytherin.

" _Stay open_ ," he told the sink, and jumped.

* * *

An icy chill settled on Harry's chest when he saw Sally-Anne lying on the floor of the Chamber, a diary in her hand. She wasn't moving. Her heartbeat was so faint he could hardly feel it. Her breathing was so shallow he couldn't tell if she was breathing at all. Her skin was unnaturally cold.

"Please wake up please wake up don't be dead," he murmured, shaking her.

She didn't wake up.

"You're too late, I'm afraid."

Harry leapt up, pulled his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the newcomer. It was a Slytherin boy in odd-looking Hogwarts robes. He might have fooled a Gryffindor, but Harry had never seen him before and knew he wasn't a Slytherin.

"Who are you?" He kept his wand pointed at the intruder.

"My name is Tom Riddle."

 _You-Know-Who's real name was Tom Riddle._ Remus's words echoed in his head. It finally dawned on him just how stupid he'd been to think he could come down here without telling anyone. Now Voldemort would kill him, and unless the ghost remembered to go to Dumbledore, no one would ever know.

"You don't fool me," Harry said, trying not to let his panic seep into his voice. "I know you're Voldemort."

Riddle's face twisted into an expression somewhere between a snarl and a sneer. He took a step forward. Harry didn't take a step back, but he wanted to. He wanted to get as far away as possible from the not-dead-after-all so-called Dark Lord who for some reason looked like a teenager. "And I know you are supposedly the defeater of Voldemort. Tell me, _Harry_ , how did you do it?"

"How should I know? I was only a baby." He glanced back at Sally-Anne. "Stop whatever you're doing to her."

"No." Harry took a step forward in anger, keeping his wand trained on Riddle's face. The older boy raised an eyebrow. "You're a first year. What spell can you use against me? I hardly think _Wingardium Leviosa_ will be of much help to you." This was unfortunately true. "I cannot stop Sally-Anne's death because as she grows weaker, I grow stronger, and when she dies, I will have a body again."

Harry thought quickly. Sally-Anne said this all started when she got the diary. He hoped that was actually the cause of it, or he'd look pretty stupid. "I'll destroy the diary."

"You can't. And if you try, I will call the basilisk. You thought you were very clever, questioning it, but I can order it to obey me."

How did he – Never mind.

"Is there some way you could use my life to gain a body?" All Harry had to do was get Riddle to agree to it, then cut his own throat with one of those sharp rocks at the base of the statue. Then they would both die.

"I am close enough to regaining my body that I no longer need a life. Your blood would do."

There went that plan.

"If I give you some of my blood, would you let her live?"

"I would stop draining her. But I warn you; she is so far gone now that I give you no guarantee she will survive."

There it was: a chance to save Sally-Anne and get out alive.

"I want you to make a magical vow," Harry said, remembering something Draco said once. Magical vows were one way of ensuring that a person didn't go back on something they said. An Unbreakable Vow was another, but he seemed to remember hearing that it needed a third person to perform it.

Riddle looked taken aback. "Why?"

"So you don't kill me as soon as you have a body." As Riddle hesitated, he added, "If you don't agree, I'll kill myself and her, and then how will you get a body?"

He had no intention of carrying out the threat, and Riddle probably knew it, but apparently he wouldn't take any chances.

"Very well. What do you want me to swear?"

Harry thought quickly. Every second this went on, Sally-Anne got closer to death. "I want you to swear not to harm me or anyone else at Hogwarts..." What else could he add? "…And not to leave Hogwarts unless I give you permission."

Riddle scowled. "You think I will agree to that?"

"If you want your body back, you'll agree to it."

The older boy muttered something. "Fine. I swear on my magic that I will not harm Harry Potter or any of Hogwarts' residents, and I will not leave Hogwarts without Harry Potter's permission."

The next few minutes were very confused. Harry remembered taking the diary and cutting his hand with one of the sharp rocks, but everything after that was a blur until he found himself, hand still bleeding, kneeling on the stone floor next to Sally-Anne. In the distance he heard voices approaching. The ghost must have told Dumbledore. Help was almost here…

Riddle pulled him to his feet, Harry's wand in hand. "Swear you won't tell anyone that I am still alive!"

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought that far ahead. In fact, since coming down to the Chamber he'd hardly thought at all. Everything he'd done had been on the spur of the moment, and he was sure he'd regret it when he had a chance to think about it.

"I swear on my magic I won't tell anyone that you're still alive," he said.

Riddle let go of him and retreated into one of the shadowy recesses of the Chamber. Harry ignored him in favour of trying to wake up Sally-Anne.

"Harry!" Remus yelled, appearing at the entrance to the Chamber. Professor Snape, Professor Dumbledore and several others followed him.

Harry ignored them. Sally-Anne wouldn't wake up. Her skin was even colder than before. He pressed his fingers against her neck and wrist. There wasn't even a flutter of a heartbeat.

" _I give you no guarantee she will survive,_ " Riddle had said.

She was dead.


	23. Chapter 23: To Lie or Not to Lie

**A/N: I've just discovered a major problem with resolving the** _ **Philosopher's Stone**_ **,** _ **Chamber of Secrets**_ **and** _ **Prisoner of Azkaban**_ **plots before first year's finished: what the hell is supposed to happen in second and third year? So, expect time skips in the next few chapters until I figure it out. Maybe Harry will actually be able to go to Hogwarts without anything dangerous, frightening or even slightly alarming happening… which is about as likely as Dolores Umbridge becoming a reformed character and moving to the Muggle world.**

 **Also, there's lots and lots of talking ahead.**

* * *

 **Chapter 23: To Lie or Not to Lie**

 _And you tried so hard to save me  
How do you save someone from themselves?_  
 **\- Blackmore's Night,** _ **25 Years**_

Sally-Anne was dead. Sally-Anne was dead, and Harry had made a magical oath with a young version of Voldemort. Harry couldn't believe it. He'd spoken to Sally-Anne earlier. She couldn't be dead. He couldn't be down in the Chamber of Secrets, with Jormungand and Tom Riddle lurking somewhere about. This was a horrible dream. It had to be.

"Harry!" Remus fell to his knees and pulled the boy into a bear hug. "You're safe! We were so worried!"

" _Worried_?!" Professor Snape snarled, kneeling down next to them. "We thought you'd been eaten by the basilisk! We thought you'd fallen down that tunnel and broken your neck! WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME WERE YOU THINKING?"

Harry looked up at them blankly. There was so much he could have told them, but he couldn't find his voice. He buried his face in Remus's chest and waited to start crying. You were supposed to cry when someone died, weren't you? But tears wouldn't come. He didn't even feel sad, just numb, like he'd had icy water thrown over him.

He heard the murmur of voices around him, but didn't hear what they said beyond a few words – "take him upstairs", "call Sirius" and something that sounded like "Fiendfyre". He must have fallen asleep, although he didn't feel the slightest bit tired, because the next thing he knew he was sitting in the Headmaster's office and Professors Dumbledore and Snape were just leaving with the reassurance, "We'll be back soon."

For the first time since arriving in Hogwarts, Harry was alone in Professor Dumbledore's office, and he couldn't summon any interest in examining the peculiar objects scattered around it.

"Something on your mind, young Potter?"

He almost jumped out of his skin and spun round in his chair, searching for the source of the mysterious voice. He could have sworn he was alone… Oh. It was the Sorting Hat. Harry hadn't realised it could speak when not Sorting anyone.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly. "Something terrible's happened."

The hat nodded, as much as a hat could nod. It was such a surreal sight that Harry almost laughed. "Terrible things often happen," it agreed, "but when you look back at them they're usually not as bad as you thought."

"Someone died."

"Oh. That _is_ terrible." The hat looked and sounded almost as if it was ashamed of itself for its previous comment. "And you think you're to blame for it?"

Harry nodded. "I could have stopped it. I could have done _something_ … I could have called the basilisk but I didn't think…"

"Not being able to stop something and being to blame for something are two different things, Mr. Potter. Did you set out to kill someone?"

"Of course I didn't!"

"Then you aren't to blame for their death."

Harry eyed it dubiously. "Did Dumbledore tell you to say all this?"

The hat looked remarkably innocent. "Whatever put the idea in your head? Of course he didn't." It paused. "But all of the Founders gave me some of their personalities when they enchanted me, and Godric Gryffindor was just as fond of encouraging speeches as Albus is."

Harry really did laugh then. Once he started laughing he found he couldn't stop, and the next thing he knew he was crying. When a frantic Sirius barged into the Headmaster's office a few minutes later, he found his godson sobbing hysterically.

Sirius didn't bother asking questions. Like Remus before him, he sank down next to Harry and hugged him tightly, murmuring reassurances under his breath. Harry returned the hug. It didn't even occur to him to ask why his godfather was in Hogwarts when he was supposed to be in St. Mungo's.

When Harry finally stopped crying, he found that Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Remus, Madam Pomfrey and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were all in the office. The place was distinctly crowded. Under other circumstances Harry would have been very embarrassed at all these people seeing him sitting in his godfather's lap – he was _eleven_ , thank you, not a toddler! – but at the moment he hardly noticed.

"Now, Harry," said Dumbledore kindly, "I realise you've had a shock, but could you please tell us all what happened?"

Sirius and Mrs. Weasley exploded in unison. "You want him to tell us-" they began together, then stopped and gave each other surprised looks.

Professor Snape took advantage of the awkward silence to say, "Albus, I doubt it is wise to make the boy relive tonight's events so soon after they happened."

"I would agree, Severus," Professor Dumbledore agreed, "but Miss Perks' parents must be informed, and we must be able to tell them _how_ their daughter died. Harry is the only person who can enlighten us."

As the adults argued, Harry thought quickly. He could hardly tell everyone about his deal with Tom Riddle, since he'd sworn on his magic he wouldn't say he was alive and that probably included the fact that he had been in the diary. Besides, they would take a dim view of him talking to young Dark Lords. So he came up with a story. It wasn't the best story, but hopefully they would put its flaws down to him being shocked.

In the meantime, the adults were still arguing.

"It's all right," Harry said. "I don't mind telling you."

They heard him, surprisingly, and everyone fell silent. Harry's courage nearly deserted him as eight pairs of eyes (though he could only see seven, since he was nestled against Sirius's chest and would have had to twist his head backward to see his face) fixed on him and he realised he would have to lie to all these people. Was keeping his magic really worth it?

 _What sort of Slytherin are you?_ a little voice in his head whispered. _Is losing your magic and being shunned as the Boy-Who-Bargained-With-The-Dark-Lord worth telling the truth?_

Put like that, there was only one possible option. Harry continued before he could lose his nerve completely and tell everyone what really happened.

"I was on my way back to the dormitory after talking to the basilisk-"

"Yes, and I have a great deal to say to you about that, Dumbledore," Sirius growled.

"Later," Dumbledore said. "Please continue, Harry."

Harry continued. "I was going past the second floor bathroom when I heard a sort of grinding noise. I asked the ghost in the bathroom what it was, and she said a girl had found a secret passage in the sinks."

Sirius interrupted with a bark of laughter. "You talked to Myrtle? And she actually said something helpful and didn't burst into tears and storm off in a huff? The world must be about to end!"

"Shut up, Black," Professor Snape said, irritated. "We'll be here until Potter's graduation if you keep interrupting."

Harry was actually glad of the interruptions, since they gave him time to work out exactly what he was going to say before he said it. "I remembered Sally-Anne telling me about her diary and her imaginary friend-" He saw the looks on the adults' faces. "…I should have mentioned that first, shouldn't I?

"Sally-Anne sat next to me in History of Magic earlier and said she'd found a diary that wrote back to her."

"And she didn't take it to the Department of Mysteries?" Sirius said incredulously. "What sort of idiot was she?"

Professor Snape glared. "She was a _Muggleborn_ , Black. Do you think she knew that it was dangerous?"

Harry waited until silence fell again. "She said the diary's name was Tom and she wrote to him every day, but since she found him she'd started forgetting things. I said she should go to Madam Pomfrey."

"I never saw her," Madam Pomfrey said.

"Anyway, I thought it might be her, so I looked for the entrance to the secret passage, and I found a carving of a snake. I thought you might have to speak to it to get it to open, so I said, 'Open', and it opened and there was a big hole in the floor. So I told the ghost to get Professor Dumbledore and jumped down."

Sirius tightened his grip on Harry, as if reassuring himself that he was really there.

"That was very foolish of you, Potter," Professor Snape rebuked him. "You should have gone to a teacher yourself and let them handle it."

"But I thought Sally-Anne might need help!" Harry protested. "I jumped down, and there were a lot of tunnels going off in different directions. I kept going straight on, and I found a door with a snake carved on it, so I told it to open, and then I went into that cave with the statues, where you found me. Sally-Anne was lying on the floor with the diary in her hand. I tried to wake her up, but I couldn't. Then I thought it might be the diary's fault, so I picked up a stone and tried to stab it. That's how I hurt my hand. And then I tried to wake her up again, and I realised she was dead. That was when you found me."

Professor Dumbledore nodded gravely. "That diary contained… some part of the man who called himself Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Riddle. He drained Sally-Anne's life and it seems likely he used her to set the basilisk loose. She didn't mention where she found the diary?"

Harry tried to remember their brief conversation. He was momentarily distracted when he realised that in his time at Hogwarts he'd only spoken to her once, and less than twelve hours later she was dead. A nagging fear took root in his chest – _what if someone else he spoke to had less than twelve hours to live?_ "I think she said she got it in a bookshop."

"Hmm." The Headmaster pondered this for a moment. "I think it's time you went to bed, Harry. Severus, escort Harry to his dormitory then come back here. Poppy, you can return to the hospital wing. Sirius, I think you should go back to St. Mungo's."

"Like hell I will," Sirius snarled, reluctantly letting go of Harry. "I've had enough of that place to last me a lifetime. You've something to say, and I'll be damned if I have to hear it from someone else."

* * *

The moment Harry stepped into the Slytherin common room, Millie and Theo descended on him. Blaise and Draco tore themselves away from their Wizard's Chess game long enough to nod agreeably to him.

"What have you done this time?" Millie demanded. "You go off somewhere with no explanation and stay away for _three hours_! What in Merlin's name kept you? Did another troll get in?"

"You've been crying," Theo said, looking at his red, puffy eyes. "Why?"

Professor Snape, who Harry hadn't noticed follow him in, came to the rescue. "You will hear all about it tomorrow, at the same time as the rest of the school. Now go to bed, all of you. It is currently eleven o'clock and you have classes tomorrow. More to the point, you have Potions tomorrow, and anyone who falls asleep in my class will be forced to work with Longbottom."

The Slytherins meekly retreated to their respective dormitories. Harry was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep. He was wrong; sleep claimed him almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

His last conscious thought was that Tom Riddle was roaming around Hogwarts somewhere, and he would probably have to talk to him tomorrow.

* * *

Albus refused to say a word until Severus returned. Black and Mrs. Weasley were at the point of garrotting him with his own beard when the Head of Slytherin arrived.

"Finally!" Minerva exclaimed, as if he'd kept them waiting at least a week. "Now, Albus, say whatever you have to say."

The Headmaster obliged. "The diary was a Horcrux."

Severus and Black paled. Everyone else looked confused.

"What's a Horcrux?" Lupin asked.

"Black Magic," said Black succinctly.

Albus nodded. "It involves murdering someone and using the murder to split one's soul." He continued, oblivious to everyone's gasps of horror. "I have long suspected Voldemort made several of them-"

" _Several_?" Minerva repeated faintly.

"-but have never been able to prove it. Harry assumed it was a relatively normal diary and so could be destroyed with a rock, but he was wrong. That was why I insisted on destroying it with Fiendfyre. However, there is another problem. Voldemort drained Sally-Anne's life. Harry didn't mention meeting him. So, either the draining didn't work, or Voldemort came to life and left before Harry arrived, and there is currently an animated Horcrux walking around Hogwarts."

* * *

Harry woke up the next morning to find a note written in unfamiliar handwriting sitting on his pillow next to his head. Its message was puzzling. It said simply, " _Come to seventh floor. Walk up and down three times next to Barnabas the Barmy._ " It burst into flames the moment he read it.

The first few hours of the day passed in a dream-like daze. Sally-Anne's death was announced at breakfast, the Hufflepuffs went around looking like they'd all just lost a dear friend, the Slytherins questioned Harry about what he knew of it, and the first class started later than usual. Other than that everything went on much as before. Very few people outside Hufflepuff had known Sally-Anne, and though Dumbledore hadn't mentioned how she died, someone remembered how ill she'd looked, and before breakfast was over the entire school was convinced she'd died of a terminal illness (though the Purebloods and some Half-bloods had to have "terminal illness" explained to them).

After Charms, the first class of the day, Harry slipped away from the other Slytherins and made his way to the seventh floor. Barnabas the Barmy, as it turned out, was a tapestry. Harry walked up and down three times next to it, and was startled when a door appeared in the wall. He hesitated before pulling it open.

It opened onto a spacious room reminiscent of the Slytherin common room and the Chamber of Secrets combined. A fire was roaring in the grate. Lying on the carpet in front of it, leafing through a very old, very thick book, was Tom Riddle.


	24. Chapter 24: In Which Plots are Hatched

**A/N: For future reference, just in case it gets confusing: "Tom" or "Riddle" refers to the diary Horcrux while "Voldemort" refers to the face on the back of Quirrell's head.**

 **I've got a rough idea of a plot for second year, but I have writer's block. This is mostly a filler chapter while I try to get rid of it. It's also a lot shorter than usual. I'll try to make up for with it a longer chapter next week :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 24: In Which Plots are Hatched**

 _The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly._ **– F. Scott Fitzgerald,** _ **The Great Gatsby**_

Harry froze at the sight of the young Dark Lord. This… _creature_ had murdered his parents, murdered Sally-Anne, murdered and tortured who knew how many people, and now he was reading a book and acting as if he was _normal_.

"Close the door. You're letting a draught in," Riddle said imperiously.

Harry had a sudden urge to snatch that book from him and beat his brains out with it. He slammed the door shut with rather more force than it needed. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, pushed his new-found murderous impulses to the back of his mind, and walked over to one of the chairs near the fire but a fair distance away from Riddle.

Riddle snapped the book shut and sat up.

"Am I allowed to leave Hogwarts or are you going to keep me locked up here for the remainder of your schooldays?"

Harry blinked. Had the once and probably future Dark Lord taken leave of his senses?

"What are you talking about?"

"The vow. You made me swear not to leave Hogwarts without your permission. Have you forgotten?"

"Oh. Er…" Harry had forgotten, actually. He'd had so much on his mind lately. He took a minute to catch up with events. "No, you can't leave. I won't let you go out and kill people."

Riddle snarled, looking as if he'd like nothing better than to tear Harry to shreds with his bare hands. "Than what am I to do? I have no doubt that you found some way around the vow and told Dumbledore and his cronies about my diary."

"I didn't."

"I wouldn't be surprised if – you _didn't_?" Riddle interrupted himself, looking amazed. "What sort of Slytherin are you?"

"The type that doesn't want to be sent to Azkaban for helping a Dark Lord," Harry retorted. He forced himself to think the situation over before speaking again. Saying things without thinking was how he got into this mess in the first place. "I don't want you to stay here, but I don't want you to kill anyone and you're bound to if you leave. And, if you leave, someone's bound to recognise you."

Riddle nodded thoughtfully. "But if I stay here, quite apart from my distaste for being trapped anywhere, someone will want to use the room sooner or later and they'll find me."

Harry gritted his teeth. If Dumbledore had been anywhere nearby, he would have gone and confessed everything, even if it meant losing his magic.

 _I've heard of "no good deed goes unpunished", but this is ridiculous! All I wanted to do was save Sally-Anne, and now I'm stuck with a Dark Lord!_

"Why don't you go to America or somewhere?" he said hopefully. "No one would recognise you there." _And I could forget about you for a few years._

Riddle gave him such a withering look it was a wonder he didn't shrivel up and die on the spot. "One, how would I get to America? I have no Apparation license and no way of getting one. Two, everything I know about America is fifty years out of date. I'd stand out even more there than I would in Diagon Alley."

Harry found himself wishing he had a time machine. There was a very nice sword in Dumbledore's office; all he'd have to do was steal it, go back in time, and stab the diary when Sally-Anne first found it… Speaking of time, what time was it? He looked around for a clock. It was that late already?!

"You'll just have to stay here," he said. "I'll be late for class if I stay any longer."

He fled before Riddle could complain.

* * *

Harry paid a visit to the library as soon as class was over. He searched the shelves for anything on Magical Vows, How to Get Out Of. Sadly, he couldn't find anything. There were plenty of books on magical vows, but nothing about getting out of them. Well, the books mentioned how to break them, and described the consequences. Harry didn't feel much like dinner after reading those descriptions.

"Hello, Harry! What's wrong?"

He almost jumped out of his skin. He hadn't even noticed Hermione sit down next to him.

"Nothing! Why should anything be wrong?" he said nervously, trying to surreptitiously hide the titles of the books piled on the table in front of and around him.

"You look miserable. Is it because of the girl who died? I'm sorry if she was a friend of yours, though I didn't know you knew her. What's this? _A Treatise on Vows in Two Volumes_ by N. T. F. Q. Stalklefield? _Oaths and Vows_ by Leone Fitzjohn? _Disquisitions of the Subject of Magical Vows_ by M. Roseridge? What on earth are you doing?"

Harry squirmed. "Well, I heard someone talking about magical vows and I wanted to see what they were…"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You've got every book that's even remotely connected with magical vows and oaths here. It looks like you're researching it pretty extensively. What's going on? Is someone trying to get you to make one? Ron told me that once, the twins tried to get him to-"

"No, I'm just interested in them," Harry protested, and was only too aware of how pitiful an excuse it was.

Hermione's other eyebrow joined the first. She looked at him disbelievingly but didn't say anything. It was somehow worse than if she'd questioned him for hours on end.

At last he relented, unable to stand it anymore. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I wish I could tell you but I can't."

"Is anyone likely to die because of it?" she asked, half-joking.

He paused. "Probably not."

"Probably not?!" Hermione took a deep breath. " _Boys_ … 'Probably not' isn't good enough. I think you should tell a teacher, or Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, or _someone_ who can help."

"I don't think I can tell _anyone_ ," he objected.

When it came to sentences unlikely to put someone at ease, that one could hardly be improved upon. Hermione's expression went from serious to alarmed.

"Then I think you should go to Professor Dumbledore. He'll know what to do."

Harry suppressed a shudder. If Professor Dumbledore found out he'd helped bring Lord Voldemort back to life and was now hiding him in the castle… A vision of a gloomy future in a cell in Azkaban played before his eyes. Since he didn't know what Azkaban was like, it looked like a stone version of his cupboard.

"I'll think about it." An idea occurred to him. "I'm going to visit Sirius later. I'll tell him, and if he thinks I should tell Professor Dumbledore, then I will."

"Good," Hermione said with a great deal of feeling. "You wouldn't _believe_ the trouble I've had trying to convince Ron to go to a teacher… Anyway, have you heard about what happened in the Gryffindor common room? Everyone knows the twins are responsible, but they won't admit to it…"

* * *

Harry sat down stiffly on the chair next to Sirius's bed, wishing himself a hundred miles away. _Why_ had he told Hermione he'd tell his godfather?

Sirius noticed his behaviour at once and jumped to a perfectly reasonable conclusion. "What's wrong, pup? What happened to that girl wasn't your fault; you shouldn't blame yourself for it."

Harry gripped his courage and tried not to squirm. "It's not about Sally-Anne – well, it is, sort of, but it's not – what do you know about magical vows?"

Sirius blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. "They're a way to make sure someone doesn't try to cheat you."

"…Do you know how to get out of one?"

His godfather stared at him. "Has one of the Slytherins-"

"No, well yes, I mean-" Harry gave up and started again. "I can't tell you everything, but I…" How could he make his explanation vague enough to technically keep to the vow while still letting Sirius know what was happening? "Someone was in trouble, and I tried to help them by making a vow with the person who got them in trouble. And I vowed I wouldn't tell anyone that someone is… not where they're supposed to be."

Sirius started trying to piece this "explanation" together. "You made a vow with someone to… save Sally-Anne?" He looked to Harry for confirmation. Harry nodded. Sirius thought about this. "You made a vow with _You-Know-Who_?!"

Harry flinched, waiting for some indication that he'd broken the vow and lost his magic. Nothing happened.

"I was trying to save her, and I couldn't think of anything else to do," he explained.

Sirius was silent. It was the sort of silence that a person fell into when they had so many things to say that they couldn't decide which to say first.

"Do you have any idea how much danger you've put yourself in?" he said slowly.

"I thought of that, so I made him vow not to hurt me."

"Wait, you made him make a vow? How'd you do _that_?"

"I said I'd kill myself and Sally-Anne if he didn't. He needed to drain someone's life to come back to life, so if we were both dead he'd still be stuck in the diary," Harry hastened to add, lest his godfather think he was a suicidal psychopath in training.

Sirius took a deep breath. His face had gone a curious shade of red and he looked like he wasn't sure if he should hug Harry for staying safe or give him a good hiding for putting himself in danger.

"We can find a way around the vow," he said calmly, the sort of calmness that only a furious person can manage. "It only stops you from telling anyone directly; it doesn't stop someone else – me, for instance – telling someone. Is You-Know-Who at Hogwarts?"

"I'm not sure I can say," Harry said, "but he's in Scotland."

"Good. Try to keep him there."

"He can't leave unless I say he can."

This startled a laugh out of Sirius. "He _can't leave_? We'd have given everything we owned to get him somewhere he couldn't leave, and you did it all on your own? James must be green with envy!" He sobered up. "Not that I approve of how you did it, of course. I never thought I'd say this, but we need to speak to Snape. Is he at Hogwarts too?"

"He was when I left," Harry said, relieved to find that he apparently wasn't going to be sent to Azkaban – yet.

"When you go back, tell him to come and see me. I'd go and see him, but the Healers won't let me out. They say I set myself back months by leaving last night." He looked and sounded very disgruntled at this.

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked curiously.

"Who better than Voldemort himself to tell us what his plans are?" Sirius asked rhetorically.

* * *

Pansy had almost completely forgotten about the letter she'd fished out of the fire when she found it buried at the bottom of her trunk. She read it over again.

 _Dear Father,_

 _Dumbledore is keeping a Cerberus in the school. I stumbled across it by accident and it tried to eat me. Please, tell the other Governors or go straight to the Minister himself, but get it out of here!_

 _Love, Draco_

Pansy grinned. The Parkinsons did not like the Malfoys. Her father had complained volubly about Lucius Malfoy getting the better of him in some business deal or other. Draco ignored Pansy's existence unless it suited her to deign to acknowledge her. What better way to get revenge on them than to ruin them? All she had to do was send the letter to her parents and they'd find some way to make it appear Lord Malfoy had known about the Cerberus and done nothing.


	25. Chapter 25: Lucius Pays a Visit

**Really long A/N: Sorry for this update being a day late. I'll try to get the next chapter up in time. It's a longer chapter than last time (it'd be hard for it to be** _ **shorter**_ **, after all :P), but I'm not sure if it qualifies as an "extra-long" chapter. Ah well, these things happen.**

 **This chapter was a nightmare to write. I wanted it to go one way, it wanted to go another, and as a result it's – in my opinion – a meandering mess.**

 **I've found several different versions of the order in which Voldemort made his Horcruxes and I can't remember if it was ever mentioned in canon, so for the sake of the story, it was: diary, ring, cup, diadem, locket, Harry, Nagini.**

 **I assume that the teachers all know about the Room of Requirement, but usually have no reason to use it (how would Dumbledore's Army have learned anything if their teachers were popping in and out every few minutes?).**

 **If Pansy's parents were given names in canon, I can't find them, so I invented ones for them.**

* * *

 **Chapter 25: Lucius Pays a Visit**

 _But chance runs like a river through all our lives, and being prepared for surprise is the best we can do._ **\- Kenneth Oppel,** _ **Skybreaker**_

Severus had endured many horrific things. He had served a megalomaniac, been tortured so many times he'd lost count, survived prolonged exposure to Bellatrix, and spent time in Azkaban. After all those things you'd think he would be able to cope with anything, yet one eleven-year-old brat was going to succeed where the Dark Lord and his most ardent followers had failed and drive him to an early grave.

"HE DID WHAT?!"

Not for the first time, something Sirius Black said had made him lose his temper. For the first time, Black was every bit as furious about it as he was. And _of course_ a Potter was responsible.

Severus paced the length of Black's hospital room. He thought in exclamation marks, like Mrs. Lynde in a Muggle book Lily made him read once. Potter made a deal with _the Dark Lord_! He lied to Dumbledore! He was hiding You-Know-Who somewhere in Hogwarts! Great Merlin, where would this end?

Black was speaking. Severus forced himself to listen in case the brat – the reckless, suicidal, _imbecilic_ brat – had confessed to any more misdeeds. He would prefer not to have any more nasty surprises.

"He wasn't thinking clearly at the time – I know, it doesn't justify it, but he's eleven and one of his friends was dying. I would have done the same," Black tried to make excuses for the boy.

"Yes, because you haven't a live brain cell to your name," Severus retorted.

Black scowled, but didn't throw a tantrum, to his surprise. He had clearly grown up somewhat in the past eleven years. He opened his mouth, clearly dying to say something that would get him hexed, thought better of it, and said instead, "You'll have to question the boy. I'd advise Veritaserum, but since you're such a clever Potions Master you'd have thought of that on your own."

Severus hardly noticed his pitiful attempt at sarcasm. " _Question him_?" he shouted. "What do you mean, question him?" Black's frantic gestures brought him back to reality and he lowered his voice before someone got suspicious. "He needs an Avada between the eyes, not an interrogation, Veritaserum or no Veritaserum. Have you forgotten that the only reason he's walking around and causing us all this trouble is because he _killed a student_?"

"But he'll also know what You-Know-Who's likely to do," Black said.

Severus scowled. He hated it when a Gryffindor said something intelligent. It gave him the sense that he'd fallen down a rabbit hole to a world more bizarre than any Muggle author could imagine, and he might find a delegation of Death Eaters – masks, robes and all – having a tea party with Muggle politicians. While sitting upside down on the ceiling of the Great Hall. While the Dark Lord played Quidditch with Potter and Dumbledore beneath them.

It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed.

Black continued, "And I can't do it. Dumbledore would wonder why I was at Hogwarts, and anyway, these-" he said a few words that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap if Molly Weasley ever heard them, "-healers won't let me out. They say I "over-exerted" myself when I went to Hogwarts. I'm not a child, for Merlin's sake!"

"That's debatable at best," Severus muttered.

The conversation quickly devolved into childish name-calling. On _both_ sides, it must be said.

* * *

When Erasmus Parkinson first read his daughter's letter, he thought she'd taken leave of her senses.

"What does Pansy say?" Delfina asked after he'd stared blankly at it for several minutes.

He tossed the letter – and the other, slightly charred letter that came with it – over to her. "Read it yourself. If you ask me she's spent too long in those dungeons."

His wife scanned Pansy's letter with a thoughtful frown. "Where is your brain, man? This is perfect!"

"Eh?" Erasmus blinked. "It is?"

"You wanted to bring Lucius Malfoy down, didn't you? Here's the perfect way of doing it."

Erasmus, never noted for his quick thinking at the best of times, stared at her blankly. "How?"

Delfina smiled. It was a smile that boded no good for the Malfoy family. "Leave that to me."

* * *

Severus decided that he couldn't possibly go to face a young version of the Dark Lord completely sober. He had no classes for another hour thanks to a joint Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch practice, ostensibly to promote House unity but probably so each team could see how the other played and change their tactics accordingly. Because of this he was sure no one could object to him having a glass of firewhiskey as soon as he returned from St. Mungo's. He sat down, glass in hand, to look through an old Potions tome and do his best to forget the sixteen-year-old psychopath a few floors overhead. That was when the Floo roared to life.

At this unexpected call, he thought a few words that would make even Black blush.

"Severus? Are you there?"

His eyebrows shot up and vanished into his hairline. Why was Lucius calling him?

Oh no. Surely Riddle hadn't found some way to contact his older self's followers.

"What is it?" he asked, fighting to keep his tone free of the dread that suddenly gripped him.

"Can I come over?" Lucius asked in lieu of answering.

That did not sound good. Severus gave his assent and tried not to let his growing alarm show on his face. Why couldn't he be like other Potions Masters? All they had to worry about was making a mistake in brewing and blowing themselves up. He had to worry about a whole school almost entirely full of atrocious students, a maniac who wouldn't stay dead and had split his soul, one of the soul shards of said maniac which had regained a body, and an eleven-year-old who seemed determined to kill himself. It was enough to drive anyone insane.

Lucius looked uncharacteristically alarmed as he stepped through the Floo. He didn't waste time with pleasantries. That alone told Severus that something somewhere had gone very, very wrong.

"Is there a Cerberus in this school?" was the first thing he said.

That was most definitely not what he expected.

"…Er?" said Severus intelligently. He almost winced at how much like a Weasley he sounded. _How does he know about that?_

Lucius began to pace up and down the room. "I just received a baffling visit from the Parkinsons. They have a letter from Draco – and it _is_ from Draco, or else it's an excellent forgery – which says she was almost eaten by a Cerberus which Dumbledore is keeping on the third floor. They appear to be under the impression I knew about this Cerberus and did nothing about it. As they left they said that they would not permit their daughter to be put in danger and if I did not do something about it they would. Now tell me, Severus, is it true?"

Severus wished he'd had a lot more than a few sips of firewhiskey before Lucius arrived. He was far too sober to cope with this.

"There _was_ a Cerberus on the third floor," he acknowledged.

Lucius went a curious shade of white mingled with red. "You knew about it? And you _allowed_ it?"

"Have you ever tried to dissuade Dumbledore from doing something he's set on?" Severus asked rhetorically. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he refused. It was Hagrid's-"

"Oh, of course," Lucius muttered. "What will he do next, keep a dragon in the attics?"

Severus forbore to mention that Hagrid had indeed kept a dragon, briefly, though not in the attics. "-And he couldn't keep it in his house, so Dumbledore offered him the use of the third floor corridor until he found a… more suitable accommodation for it."

That was a good enough lie, he thought. It was more or less true, and it didn't mention anything to do with Nicolas Flamel or his creation.

Lucius collapsed into a chair and buried his head in his hands. "Did it really attack Draco?"

"If it did, she said nothing to me about it," Severus said, which was perfectly true. In his mind, however, he went over the time Filch caught Potter, Weasley and Draco on the third floor corridor. Had the little imbeciles really met it then? If they had, why hadn't they been in shock? Or badly injured?

His friend sat in silence for a moment. "Is it still here?"

Good question. Was it? He racked his brains for any reference to what had happened to Fluffy after the Great Christmas Eve Turban Debacle.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

Lucius got up. "For Dumbledore's sake, it had better not be. I will tell the Board of Governors about this. And… Is Draco all right?"

That was the closest Lucius Malfoy ever got to showing real fear for anyone else's safety.

"She certainly doesn't act like someone who was almost eaten by a Cerberus," Severus replied dryly, thinking of the argument after breakfast. He still wasn't entirely clear on the specifics, but it seemed an idiotic second-year Ravenclaw (a Pureblood, no less!) asked Draco if she dyed her hair. It nearly ended in hexes being thrown.

* * *

After Lucius left, Severus found himself in a bit of a dilemma. Which should be done first: alerting Albus to the impending arrival of the Board of Governors, or interrogating the walking, talking Horcrux upstairs?

He scribbled a note to Albus explaining Lucius's visit, summoned a House-elf to take it to the Headmaster's office, downed the remainder of his scarcely-touched glass of firewhiskey, fetched a full bottle of Veritaserum from his stores, and set off for the Room of Requirement.

* * *

Tom was bored. The house-elves brought him food, books, a change of clothes and a selection of old wands to try without asking who he was or why he was there (he suspected Potter had something to do with that; the little nuisances praised "the Boy-Who-Killed-Bad-Mister-Dark-Lord" to the skies) and he could talk to Jormungand when the basilisk was awake, but nothing – not the books, not his basilisk, not practicing spells with wands that worked for him but felt alien and unsettling – alleviated the crushing boredom that settled on him.

Worse than the boredom was the unnerving feeling of… regret. It wasn't guilt (Tom Riddle had never been capable of anything so human), but he wished Sally-Anne was still there so he had someone to talk to. He ignored this feeling to the best of his ability.

After being trapped in a diary for fifty years (he conveniently ignored that he had no one to blame but himself for that), all that he really wanted was to go outside.

He was reading a book on Inanimate to Animate transfigurations when the door opened. That must be Potter at last. The boy had been away so long he'd thought he wouldn't come at all.

" _Stupefy_!" someone shouted.

* * *

Severus fought the urge to _Avada_ the Horcrux while it was unconscious. Unlike Black, he didn't believe the boy could give them any useful information (how much did someone actually know about what they'd do fifty years in the future?), but he didn't know and had no wish to know how Horcruxes worked. An _Avada_ might not harm one at all. Besides, the Dark Lord – the actual one, not this sixteen-year-old shard of his soul – might be able to tell if one of his Horcuxes was destroyed.

So he gritted his teeth, force-fed it Veritaserum, and tried not to throttle it.

" _Ennervate_."

The Horcrux woke up. Severus derived grim satisfaction from its shock, panic and anger when it found itself tied to a chair. He'd suffered much worse at the hands of its older self; it was only fair it got a taste of its own medicine.

"What is your name?" he asked, because that was the standard first question asked of someone under Veritaserum and not because he was in any doubt.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," the Horcrux said through gritted teeth.

That was all confirmation of its identity that Severus needed.

"Are you a Horcrux?"

"Yes."

And that confirmed Albus's theory.

"How many Horcruxes did you make?"

"One."

Severus reflected that it was just as well Black wasn't in charge of this interrogation. The Gryffindor would have been satisfied with such an obvious evasion. "How many did you _intend_ to make?"

The glare Riddle gave him was so deadly anyone else would have run screaming from the room. He didn't. He'd been on the receiving end of far too many glares from this thing's older self to be alarmed. No matter how intimidating Riddle was, he was only sixteen, and a sixteen-year-old would never look as intimidating as a snake-like humanoid with a sadistic streak a mile wide.

"Seven."

Seven? He intended to split his soul _seven times_? And knowing the Dark Lord, he'd have gone beyond seven… Severus suppressed a shudder.

"What objects did you intend to make into Horcruxes?"

"Anything that belonged to the Founders."

* * *

Harry walked up and down the seventh floor corridor with all the enthusiasm of a French aristocrat on his way to the guillotine. When the door appeared in the wall, he looked at it as if it was a man-eating tiger ready to pounce.

Deciding that waiting out here would only delay the inevitable, he gingerly opened the door.

He'd seen some strange sights since his introduction to the Wizarding world, but none of them could have prepared him for the one that met his eyes.

"What the _hell_?"


	26. Chapter 26: Dumbledore Learns the Truth

**A/N that got so long it had to be split in two: Draco has had depressingly few appearances in the last few chapters. Even here her part isn't as important as I wanted it to be; she mostly just provides exposition. I keep trying to give her something to do, but so far the plot's refused to allow it. Hopefully she'll have a larger role in the next chapter.**

 **I completely forgot to include Quidditch practice and matches in previous updates, so just assume that they happened but weren't mentioned.**

 **(Continued at the end of the chapter.)**

* * *

 **Chapter 26: Dumbledore Learns the Truth**

 _Everything has its drawbacks, as the man said when his mother-in-law died, and they came down upon him for the funeral expenses._ **– Jerome K. Jerome,** _ **Three Men in a Boat**_

Harry's mouth hung open. At first he thought he was dreaming, because really, the sight that met his eyes couldn't possibly be real. Riddle couldn't be tied to a chair and Professor Snape couldn't be holding Riddle at wandpoint. Then his mind caught up with his eyes, and he realised this must have something to do with whatever Sirius told the Professor.

"What the _hell_?" he began, then winced. Apparently Ron was having an influence on him. Draco wouldn't be happy. And then he forgot about Draco because he'd just _sworn_ at his _Head of House_.

Harry suddenly found himself with a wand pointed at his head.

"Potter, what are you-" Professor Snape lowered the wand and visibly tried to keep from losing his temper. He didn't seem to be having much success. "I hope you realise how much trouble you've caused."

Harry tried not to squirm. He failed.

"Sorry, sir," he said. Then, since he felt the need to justify his actions, "I wouldn't have done it, only Sally-Anne was dying and I couldn't think of anything else… and I failed anyway," he finished, suddenly miserable.

"No matter how little choice you have or think you have, bargaining with Dark Lords is _never_ a wise course of action," the Professor told him harshly. "Did you honestly think you could keep him to his side of the bargain?"

Harry had, foolishly, believed Riddle would, and now he realised how pathetically naïve that assumption was. He began to have serious doubts about his Sorting. Surely no true Slytherin would actually expect another Slytherin – especially one like Riddle – to keep their word?

"We are now going to the Headmaster, where you will tell him the truth and let the adults deal with this," Professor Snape continued. He paused. "Or perhaps I should tell him. The vow might still be in effect."

* * *

Albus was in the middle of preparing for the board of governors' visit when a curious procession invaded his office. He stopped in the process of flicking through a list of class schedules to peer at them quizzically. First there was young Harry, staring at the floor and looking like he wished he was somewhere far, far away. Then there was Severus, looking furious. Nothing unusual about that; he was frequently infuriated by something or other. And lastly…

Great Merlin. Surely that wasn't…

Albus took a leaf out of Minerva's book and dropped the class schedules in astonishment.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Severus, would you please repeat that?" Albus wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"Potter made a deal with the Horcrux," Severus repeated, glaring at said Horcrux, which was under a _Stupefy_ and _Immobilus_.

There were very few times in his long life when Albus had been completely and utterly dumbstruck. This was one of those times. He searched for something to say and found nothing.

"But… Harry… _why_?" he said at last. "Didn't you know-"

Harry, who until this point had kept his eyes firmly on the floor, looked up. Albus was suddenly reminded of Lily when she was eleven and knew she'd said or done something wrong but was too proud to admit it.

Of course, Lily's misdeeds had never been particularly serious, and certainly not on the level of bargaining with Tom Riddle.

"I couldn't think of anything else to do," he said, looking utterly miserable. "And it didn't work. Sally-Anne still died."

Albus opened his mouth to comfort the boy. Severus interrupted him before he could.

"I questioned it-" he gestured towards the Horcrux, "-under Veritaserum. It's the only one You-Know-Who had made at the time, but he intended to make seven."

Albus paled. He'd always known Tom wasn't quite sane, but to even consider splitting his soul _seven times_?

"Harry, why don't you go and play Quidditch with your friends?" he asked kindly.

Harry scowled, knowing perfectly well that they just wanted him to leave. He left anyway, and if Albus knew anything about children, he'd probably gone to complain to his friends.

* * *

Harry made a beeline for the Quidditch pitch as soon as he left the Headmaster's office. After the stress, fear and shock of the last few days, it would be a relief to go flying and forget about everything for a few hours. The Slytherin-Hufflepuff match was less than a month away, after all, and if he forgot to practice Flint would murder him.

He had hoped the pitch would be empty. It wasn't. A figure was zooming around the pitch, so fast you would have thought they were trying to break the sound barrier. When he got closer he realised it was Draco.

He stopped and stared, open-mouthed with horror as she dived towards the ground at terrifying speed. It looked like she was about to crash, but she pulled up and rocketed across the pitch to the stand occupied by the teachers and the commentator when a match was in progress. That was when she saw him. He waved.

Draco was too far away for him to see her face, but she didn't look overjoyed to see him. She flew over at a much more sedate pace. Harry was quite relieved. Seeing her fly so fast made him worry that next year, his position as Seeker would be in danger. He also wouldn't like to have to tell Professor Snape that his goddaughter was killed or badly injured, of course.

"What do you want?" Draco said in a surprisingly sharp tone.

Harry blinked. "Er… Quidditch practice?"

"Oh. I thought Pansy sent you."

Why would she think that? Pansy hadn't said more than two sentences to him in the past month, and both those sentences had contained veiled (and not so veiled) insults.

"She didn't," Harry assured her. "Why'd you think she had?"

Draco scowled. "She came to me and said her parents were going to ruin mine and it was all because of me. I told her she must have stolen the Firewhiskey the seventh years smuggle in. And then she said-" Her hands clutched the broom handle so hard that her knuckles turned white. Harry feared she would break it. Draco paused and took a deep breath. "Well, it doesn't matter what she said. Anyway, I hexed her. She won't bother me again for a long time. Then I came here."

Harry didn't dare ask what she'd done to Pansy. If he knew, he might feel obligated to tell a teacher. "But are her parents going to ruin yours?"

" _They_ _are not_!" Draco snapped. "They're just jealous."

Harry was about to ask why they were jealous. She didn't give him a chance.

"They've had a grudge against us since the last war ended. My father never went to Azkaban at all, but Erasmus Parkinson was there for a month before his wife finally decided to buy his way out. I'm surprised she bothered, frankly. If it was me I'd have left him there to rot."

He bit his tongue in the effort to keep from saying something ridiculously Hufflepuff-ish, like "That isn't very nice". She was obviously angry, and people always said things they didn't mean when they were angry.

"And then, when he got out, no one would associate with them. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs avoided them because they were Slytherins suspected of being Death Eaters, and Slytherins avoided them because he was too stupid to talk his way out of going to Azkaban. And they somehow decided all their misfortunes were our fault."

Harry found himself feeling almost sorry for the Parkinsons. He couldn't feel very sorry for them, mostly because they had probably at some point followed the monster who killed his parents (and was currently in a chair in the Headmaster's office because he'd made a terrible choice), and partly because… Well, he'd met Pansy, and if her parents were anything like her, he couldn't exactly blame people for wanting nothing to do with them.

Draco glared at the stand straight ahead as if it was Pansy. "Now she thinks they can get revenge for the imagined wrongs my family has done hers. Let them try!"

If Hermione, or even Neville, had been here, this would have been much simpler. They would have known what to say. Harry didn't have a clue what to say, and the only things that came to mind were trite, sentimental rubbish that would have eternally destroyed any chance he had of being a proper Slytherin.

So instead, he changed the subject. "Want to race?"

* * *

"Let me make sure I understand you correctly. There is a Horcrux here – two, in fact, if you count the walking, talking one – and you suspected it was here but did _nothing_?"

Severus was starting to become very worried for his health. All these constant shocks and revelations couldn't possibly be good for his heart or his nerves.

"I had no proof," Albus said in an effort to explain. "And I had no idea what to look for or where to start. I could only hope no one found it until I found more clues. I was foolish, I admit, but I thought it was for the best. Tom wasn't foolish enough to leave pieces of his soul where any random passer-by could find them, and if I started searching before I had any information, I would only have roused his suspicions."

"But you – he-" Severus found himself stammering incoherently. "For Merlin's sake, we're talking about a _Horcrux_ , Albus! Not some dangerous animal that will leave you alone as long as you leave it alone! The worst Dark Lord in living memory left a piece of his soul somewhere in this school, and you left it alone and hoped no one found it? Have you gone senile?"

"We know what it is likely to be, and so it will be easier to find," the Headmaster said. "The walking, talking one, as you put it, will help us with that."

Severus frowned. That sounded ominously as if… "Please don't tell me you intend to let it live."

"I intend to let it live long enough to find the other Horcruxes for us," Albus said, glancing at the still-unconscious, still-immobilized figure restrained in the chair opposite. "Now, I expect Lucius will have gathered his troops by now, so I believe I should prepare for the imminent invasion of the board of governors. Please take the… er… boy-" Boy, indeed. Severus had met Dementors and Ministry workers more worthy of being given such a humanising designation. "-to the Room of Requirement. We will need to find a more secure holding place for him, but until then the Room should do."

* * *

"You told Dumbledore?"

"Perhaps you would have preferred I tell Fudge?"

Sirius shuddered at that mental image. "I didn't expect you to tell anyone."

Snape made that noise, the noise somewhere between a growl and a hiss that Sirius remembered all too well from their schooldays. It meant he was struggling to resist the urge to hex, strangle, or otherwise harm something – usually something with the surname "Black", "Lupin" or "Potter".

"Oh, so you thought we were capable of dealing with this on our own? Perhaps you thought we could hold off the Dark Lord himself, should he be aware of his other self's existence and come to investigate." He gave him a look calculated to make the poor bastards unlucky enough to be his students shake in their shoes. "Whatever the Healers are doing for your mind, they certainly haven't helped your intelligence."

Sirius's temper flared and he opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. Snape's astonishment at his newfound self-control was nothing compared to his own astonishment.

"I knew we'd have to tell Dumbledore eventually," he said, slowly and as if talking to a particularly dim child. "But I thought we'd leave it until after we'd found and destroyed the… objects."

He was sure the privacy ward Snape put up was perfectly good (and it galled to concede that anything a Slytherin did could be in any way good), but growing up in the Black family had a tendency to make one paranoid when talking about Dark magic.

"In other words, you thought we could single-handedly find Merlin-knows-how-many Dark objects and destroy them. When we have no idea where or what most of them are."

Put like that, it did sound foolish. Sirius dealt with his embarrassment by changing the subject.

"You said you needed somewhere for the…" Like Albus before him, he ran into some difficulty finding the right word. "…object?"

Snape nodded.

"I've convinced the Healers to let me out in a month. I'd like it if the Order helped get Grimmauld Place ready to live in." Snape started to say something. Sirius hurriedly continued before he could. "I'll only need two, maybe three, rooms cleared, but one of them should have strong wards put on it."

Light dawned on the Slytherin's face.

"You think it's a _good idea_ to put it in a house full of Dark magic?"

Sirius grinned mirthlessly. "That house was built to be a prison. It'll do just fine."

* * *

 **A/N continued: If it was ever mentioned what the relationship between the Parkinsons and Malfoys was in canon (beyond canon!Pansy's crush on canon!Draco), I can't remember it, so everything Draco says about them is entirely my invention. Also, don't believe Draco's version of events is entirely accurate. She's heard all of it from her parents, and she wouldn't be a Slytherin if she didn't twist things to show her family in the best possible light.**

 **Easter seems to have done something to my ability to post by the deadline; I was late posting the week before last and missed it entirely last week. And this isn't even a very long chapter to make up for it :( I'll** _ **try**_ **to post by Tuesday next week. Emphasis on "try". If I miss it again, I might change the deadline to Wednesday and see if that's easier to keep to :)**


	27. Chapter 27: In Search of a Sensation

**A/N: A great big "Thank you!" to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed or favourited. You've no idea how much I appreciate it :D It's incredibly difficult to keep to one story when I've got ideas for countless others bouncing about my head, but you help a lot.**

 **Draco finally has an important part in this chapter! Though I'm not sure if her behaviour is realistic eleven-year-old behaviour (my friends and I were snarky little brats at that age, but maybe we were unusual).**

 **Wow, I actually updated by the deadline. It's a miracle :P All right, so it's not a very long chapter. Even miracles have limits, after all. Now, let's see if I can update in time next week…**

* * *

 **Chapter 27: Draco in Search of a Sensation**

" _There is a certain amount which I shan't mention publicly," Elizabeth said. "Things about Lucia which I should never dream of stating openly."  
"Those are just the ones I should like to hear about most," said Diva. "Just a few little titbits."_ **– E. F. Benson,** _ **Mapp and Lucia**_

Draco's bad temper diminished somewhat after racing Harry back and forth across the Quidditch pitch. He won the first race and she won the second and third (though, in defence of Harry's flying skills, the outcome of the third one would have been much more hotly contested if he hadn't lost his glasses). Pansy Parkinson's pitiful attempt at blackmail and spite faded into insignificance as she watched Harry land and search helplessly for his glasses. She would have offered to help, but that would mean sacrificing the chance to watch him on his hands and knees, feeling around for the glasses that were sitting a metre or so behind him.

At last the amusement value of the sight wore off, and she drifted over on her broom to snatch the glasses off the ground and return them to their owner.

"Thanks," he said, with irritatingly obvious gratitude.

She felt like screaming, "Slytherins don't show their emotions!" at him. Had he learned nothing in the past months since his Sorting? …Actually, it was pretty obvious he hadn't. She suddenly felt very worried about what the next few years would have in store for him. Slytherin House did not take kindly to anyone who didn't fit in with their idea of what a Slytherin should be.

"Where were you?" she asked to take her mind off Harry's future. "Weasley came looking for you after class and said he couldn't find you anywhere."

"I was with Professor Snape," Harry said, far too quickly for honesty. He was hiding something, and he couldn't have been more blatant about it if he'd used a _Sonorus_ to yell it out to the castle.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think you'd done so badly in Potions that he'd want to talk to you for an hour, especially when we didn't have Potions today."

"It was about Mr. Black. I mean, Sirius." That was an outright lie. The way he averted his eyes immediately after speaking made it crystal clear.

She decided to drop the subject and do some investigations of her own later. He got back on his broom and drifted up to be level with her.

"Want to race again?" Harry said, then broke off and stared at something beyond her. "Hey, isn't that your father?"

Draco spun round so quickly she almost fell off her broom. Sure enough, her father was approaching the Quidditch pitch. He did not look happy. She quickly wracked her brains for anything she'd done recently that was serious enough to bring her father to Hogwarts. She couldn't think of anything. Anyway, surely if she'd done something that serious, she'd have been dragged before Dumbledore by now?

"Why's he here?" Harry asked curiously.

Draco could only shake her head in confusion.

"Draco! Come here at once!" Lucius shouted.

She winced. It looked like she was in trouble. And she didn't even know what she'd done! She landed and approached Lucius apprehensively. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry hesitate for a moment, then follow her from far enough away to let them talk without overhearing too much. This further proof of his utter unsuitability to be in Slytherin made her want to scream and throw things.

Her father looked angry, yes, but also… worried? What _was_ this all about?

Then she remembered Pansy's taunt, and an awful dread settled in her chest. What she'd said couldn't be true. Pansy was just a jealous bitch. She had no actual blackmail material. Her pathetic parents couldn't do anything to damage the Malfoys.

"What's wrong, Father?" she asked.

"Did you or did you not write a letter informing your mother and me that Dumbledore kept a Cerberus in the school?"

Metaphorical icy hands wrapped around Draco's heart. "I did."

Lucius's already grim expression became even grimmer. "And did you send that letter?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She debated the pros and cons of answering that question truthfully. "Because I only wrote it to convince a housemate not to put themselves in unnecessary danger. Then I destroyed it."

Lucius shut his eyes. "You did _not_ destroy it."

As she was still pondering the implications of that statement – she threw it into the fireplace; how could it not have been destroyed? – her father continued, "Was what you wrote true?"

"Yes."

He pursed his lips. "Come, Draco."

This looked worse than she feared. "Where are we going?"

"To Dumbledore's office."

Draco paled and glanced back at Harry. He was standing a fair distance away, broom in hand, looking thoroughly confused.

"Don't follow," she mouthed at him. "Tell you later."

He nodded, got on his broom, and took to the air again, practicing Quidditch manoeuvres.

* * *

Harry couldn't concentrate. Something serious must have happened to bring Draco's father to Hogwarts. From what he'd heard of their conversation, it was something about a letter, though he couldn't see how a letter could be so serious. And now Draco might be in trouble.

The most un-Slytherin of Slytherins gave up on trying to fly and returned to the castle. He kept hoping he would meet Draco around the next corner. He didn't. There was no sign of her anywhere. He wandered aimlessly around the castle until he found himself outside the library.

Harry decided he wouldn't find out what was going on until Draco reappeared, so he might as well make a start on his homework.

The library door opened just as he reached for it and Neville and Hermione came out together. Hermione was poring over a large book. If Neville hadn't grabbed her arm, she'd have walked right into Harry.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said. "I didn't see you there. Have you heard?"

"Heard what?" he asked.

"About your godfather. Professor Flitwick was complaining about it loudly when I passed the staff room. Apparently they're letting him out of St. Mungo's soon, and he wants help cleaning his house. I thought we could volunteer to help."

She held up the book, which bore the title, " _Essential Cleaning Spells, Fifth Edition_ , by Roderick Prewett".

"Oh," Harry said, trying not to show how surprised he was at this news. Why hadn't Mr. Black – Sirius, damn it! – told him anything about this? "Why was Professor Flitwick complaining?"

Neville answered, surprisingly. He'd been so quiet that Harry'd almost forgotten he was there. Then again, that tended to happen to people when Hermione started talking.

"He thinks your godfather isn't well enough to leave hospital. He says it's just asking for trouble," the Hufflepuff said. "That's what she told me he said, anyway. I wasn't there."

Harry was offended on Sirius's behalf. "What does he know about it? Has he even met him?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said, "but he thinks Mr. Black isn't fit to live on his own. Professor McGonagall told him that he won't be living on his own, because nothing short of suddenly dropping dead will keep Mr. Lupin from joining him, and if Professor Flitwick thinks Mr. Black won't want custody of you, he should resign as Head of Ravenclaw."

Both Harry and Neville gaped at her.

"How'd you hear all that when you were just passing the Staff Room?" Neville asked curiously.

Hermione's face reddened.

"You were listening outside the door, weren't you?" Harry said with a grin. Fancy Hermione, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes herself, eavesdropping on the teachers! Wonders would never cease.

"I was not," Hermione said, looking and sounding highly offended. "Cho and Padma were listening outside the door. I tried to make them stop, and that was how I heard all that. I also heard Professor Sprout say that she hopes Mr. Black has grown up over the last ten years, because if he hasn't he might decide to run for Minister of Magic or something."

Harry suddenly had the urge to say, "Why don't you run for Minister of Magic?" or something similar if he ever saw Sirius while Professor Sprout was within hearing range. It might be funny to see her reaction. On second thoughts, maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea. Sirius might take him seriously (he winced at the atrocious pun he'd just made) and actually run for Minister of Magic. Harry didn't know his godfather very well, but he probably wouldn't be a good Minister of Magic.

 _If you compare him to Fudge, he'd be an excellent one,_ a little voice piped up. Harry only just stopped himself from nodding in agreement.

"We could all volunteer to help clean his house," he said, bringing the conversation back to its original topic. "We could dust and clean and wash the dishes and weed the garden."

Neville perked up at the mention of the garden. "I'd like to see what sort of plants the Blacks grew."

"And I'd like to see if it's true the Black family library is full of nothing but books on Dark magic," Hermione added.

That was how a Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin spent a full hour standing outside the library – and sitting on windowsills in the corridor after Madam Pince shooed them away – making plans to renovate Sirius's house. Very few of said plans were exactly feasible, and the handful that were would require an enormous amount of time and effort to put in practice, but the would-be housecleaners didn't let such unimportant details bother them.

* * *

It was just as well for Pansy Parkinson that she was nowhere within easy reach. If she had been, Draco would have murdered her by now. How _dare_ she take that letter? How dare she try to blackmail the Malfoys?

Only Dumbledore's presence (and the presence of the entire Board of Governors) prevented Draco from storming off in search of the would-be blackmailer. Draco tuned out their arguing and dreamed up all the ways she'd get her revenge. The Parkinsons had made a serious mistake when they tried to blackmail the Malfoy family, and as the Parkinson most responsible for it, Pansy would have a miserable time of it for the next few days if Draco had anything to say about it.

Her thoughts continued in that vein for most of the meeting. Then the bubble of her pleasant daydreams of Pansy quite literally coughing up a lung or choking in her own blood was abruptly burst.

"Miss Malfoy, how did you find out about the Cerberus?" Dumbledore asked. His tone was perfectly kindly and grandfatherly, but Draco was firmly convinced his eyes were sparkling with malice. The fact his eyes were always sparkling, twinkling or otherwise glistening was entirely beside the point.

"I got lost," she said briefly.

"Care to elaborate?" Orin Waterbrook, one of the Board of Governors, said in a patronising tone.

Lucius glanced at him sharply, and Draco was sure that as soon as this meeting was over and her father had a chance of hexing him without Dumbledore noticing, the idiot would find he suddenly had much more respect for members of the Malfoy family.

"I got lost on my way to class – I can't remember which one – while coming from class – I can't remember which one – shortly after having dinner – I can't remember what it was," she said snidely, making her story up on the spot. "Was that elaborate enough for you? Or do you want me to tell you which uniform I was wearing, which books I had with me at the time, and what I said to my assigned partner in the previous class? If you do, the answer to all of them is _I can't remember_."

"That will do, Draco," Lucius said, but a smile was playing at the corners of his mouth.

The rest of the Board of Governors glared at her as if they thought she was being deliberately uncooperative. Well, they probably did think that, and she _was_ , so they had every reason to think that, but she was still insulted.

"Why did you write the letter but not send it?" Dumbledore asked.

She should have found some excuse – deciding Dumbledore must know best or some such rubbish. But she was already angry with Pansy, this farce of a meeting was only making her angrier, and she decided she might as well be honest. "Because I only wrote it to blackmail certain of my classmates."

A slightly horrified silence descended on the non-Slytherins present at the mention of such goings-on. A slightly horrified silence descended on the Slytherins present at the open admission to such goings-on. All in all, the Headmaster's office was filled with a very horrified silence.

" _Why_?" Waterbrook, who according to Grandfather Cygnus had been the most ardent Gryffindor not named Weasley when at Hogwarts, looked like he might die of heart failure. For a moment she hoped he did.

"I'm sorry to say that some Slytherins are as reckless as Gryffindors, and if they heard there was a Cerberus in the school they'd run off to see it," she said, unable to resist a jab at Gryffindors. "I told them that if they didn't promise to stay away from it, I'd send the letter to my father and have it removed. Once they promised, I'd no need of the letter anymore so I threw it in the fire."

"Your reasons are understandable," said Dumbledore, "though I cannot approve of your methods."

She only just restrained herself from making a very rude reply.

"So in other words, you knew a dangerous animal was in the school, and you did nothing except make a group of children promise not to go near it." Waterbrook sneered. To be more accurate, he tried to sneer, but his attempt at it was pitiful.

"How was she to know her mother and I wouldn't think it was a joke?" Lucius asked rhetorically. She knew and he knew that her parents would never have thought it was a joke, but the Board of Governors didn't need to know that. "Who would have seriously thought even Dumbledore would keep a Cerberus in Hogwarts?"

That was when Draco saw a chance to deflect attention from herself and onto Pansy. "By the way, I am almost certain that someone in my House dared at least one Hufflepuff to go to the third floor. Her name is Pansy Parkinson; why isn't she being questioned?"

The uproar was instantaneous.


	28. Chapter 28: Not Welcome at All

**A/N: Well, erm… I didn't update in time again. I could say something about how it's the fault of the politicians and the supporters canvassing for the upcoming elections who always seemed to visit when I was trying to write, but I guess it's mostly my fault for not writing anyway.**

 **Yet more time-skips ahead. I just realised the story's still in first year, and I meant it to be half-way through second year by now. Goes to show how much good planning is at times :/**

* * *

 **Chapter 28: Not Welcome at All (or, The House Guest from Hell)**

 _It isn't often that Aunt Dahlia… lets her angry passions rise, but when she does, strong men climb trees and pull them up after them._ **\- P. G. Wodehouse,** _ **Right Ho, Jeeves**_

Zacharias Smith was, without doubt, one of the most odious students ever to inflict himself on Hufflepuff House. That was why Draco thought he might be receptive to a bribe. She had twenty Galleons of her own money, and was confident her parents would give her at least another twenty. If the reports she'd heard of Smith were accurate, that would be more than enough to make him go along with her plot without question.

Now, if only she could _find_ him.

She was supposed to be looking for Pansy Parkinson, who she also had yet to find. She was grimly aware that time was running out and soon Dumbledore would send someone looking for her. If she hadn't found Smith and made her bargain with him by then, she would be lucky to get out alive. The only way the situation could be any stickier would be if she was caught in the act of bribing Smith. Should that happen, she might as well make an attempt to _Avada_ herself.

Then, just as she was about to give up and find try her luck bribing the next Hufflepuff she saw, she ran into Smith. It must be said she "ran into" him, in this case, in the most literal sense of the phrase.

"Ow!" Smith leapt back, hopping on one foot and cradling his ribs where she'd stepped on and elbowed him, respectively. "You little- What are you trying to do, kill me?"

Draco restrained herself from saying something very rude. Melodramatic imbecile. "I have a business proposition for you. If you do me a favour, I'll give you twenty Galleons."

Her parents would have been annoyed to hear this. 'Never let anyone know at the beginning of the proceedings just how much money you're willing to give them' was one of their golden rules of business. It was a golden rule she had no choice but to break. She didn't have time for bargaining.

An intrigued look crossed Smith's face. "Twenty Galleons? What do you want me to do?"

Draco smiled. It looked like her plan would work after all.

* * *

Lucius was in a very good mood when he returned to Malfoy Manor. Draco's plan – he'd had no chance to talk to her privately, but he was sure she'd come up with the idea of getting Smith to incriminate Miss Parkinson – had worked perfectly. He'd never been as proud of his daughter as he had been when that imbecile Waterbrook proclaimed Pansy had been at best thoughtless and at worst had attempted to maim or murder a fellow student by proxy. Now Miss Parkinson would have to be on her best behaviour, and Dumbledore would be investigated for keeping a Cerberus at the school in the first place.

Things had turned out very well indeed for the Malfoy family.

He found Narcissa in the drawing room, writing a letter.

"I'm writing to Sirius," she said before he could ask. "Telling him we want to put the past aside and help him resume his proper place in society… All the normal platitudes to be given to someone in his situation. He won't accept any help from us, but we must appear to keep to tradition. How did your investigation go? Will you finally have Dumbledore kicked out?"

Lucius sat down next to her. "He will certainly lose a great deal of respect and support when the Daily Prophet learns of this, but I doubt he will be kicked out." His lips curved into a cruel smile. "The Parkinsons, on the other hand, will very shortly find themselves being taken to task for their daughter's behaviour."

Narcissa set down the quill. "What did you do?"

"I did nothing. Draco did it all. You would have been proud of her; we have raised a consummate Slytherin."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "What did she do that was so impressive?"

"She deflected attention from herself by proclaiming that Miss Parkinson dared a Hufflepuff to go near the Cerberus-" On second thoughts, perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned the Cerberus. His wife's hands spasmed as if she wanted nothing more than to wrap them around Dumbledore's neck. Lucius hurriedly continued with his story. There were very few things that could scare him, and Narcissa in a rage was near the top of that list. "-then went and found a Hufflepuff willing to substantiate her claims. Miss Parkinson is now in a great deal of trouble, and Draco has been praised for bringing the matter to the Board's attention. I imagine the Parkinsons will think twice before attempting to blackmail us again."

"Unless, of course, Draco's actions only make them resentful."

Lucius dismissed the idea out of hand. "If they take any action out of resentment, they will make at least a dozen glaring mistakes and only discredit themselves even more."

"Hmm." Narcissa did not look convinced. She dropped the subject, however. "I think it's time we thought of selecting possible husbands for Draco to consider."

Lucius blinked, taken aback at the abrupt change of topic. "Isn't she a little young?"

"I was ten when my parents suggested you would be a suitable husband," Narcissa pointed out calmly.

"…Did you have anyone in mind? Theodore Nott or Blaise Zabini, perhaps?"

"I do have someone in mind, but not either of them. What would you say to our having Harry Potter for a son-in-law?"

Lucius discovered it was possible to perform a spit take even when not drinking anything.

* * *

" _What_?!"

Draco was not happy. In fact, she was decidedly unhappy. She reread the letter just to make sure she hadn't misinterpreted it. No, it still said exactly what she'd thought it said.

She suddenly found herself almost wishing she knew where the sixth and seventh years hid their firewhiskey. This was the sort of news that made one feel like taking refuge in a bottle. Or like banging one's head against the nearest hard surface; a table or a wall, for instance.

Her parents wanted her to consider marrying Harry. Her parents wanted her to consider _marrying Harry_! She'd never given much thought to marriage before. She knew it was something she would have to do eventually, but it was far enough in the future that it hadn't mattered much to her. She'd never considered any of her male housemates as potential husbands, and she'd certainly never thought of Harry as anything other than a friend. An incredibly annoying, utterly un-Slytherin friend, but still a friend.

Draco tried to imagine being married to Harry. All she could think of was her constantly trying to keep him from doing something incredibly stupid and embarrassing them both. That… was quite similar to what their current relationship was, but it wasn't what most people thought of when they heard the word "marriage".

She folded up the letter and put it at the very bottom of her trunk. Term was almost over. She could wait to ask her parents if they'd taken leave of their senses (not that she'd put it _quite_ like that) when she next saw them. Until then, she would do her level best to put the thought of marrying Harry out of her mind.

* * *

12 Grimmauld Place had not improved in the last ten years. Even Molly Weasley's best efforts had proved futile when up against a few centuries' worth of Dark magic, dust and general decay.

The sight of it set Sirius's teeth on edge. As he stepped into the kitchen he felt like he was eight and in trouble for some imagined misdeed again, and found himself expecting to be confronted and shrieked at by his mother. Well, he was confronted and shrieked at by his mother. So was everyone else unlucky enough to disturb her portrait. Anyway, Sirius didn't like Grimmauld Place. Call him delusional or paranoid, but he was pretty sure Grimmauld Place didn't like him either.

He tried resolutely not to think about the unwelcome person he'd be sharing the house with and instead thought of the very welcome person who'd be visiting him. Harry was dividing his holidays up between the Weasleys, Remus and Snape (yes, Snape! And you could have knocked Sirius over with a feather when he heard that piece of news), but he popped over for a visit at least once a week.

He wasn't coming today. Dumbledore wanted to get the abomination against nature – that is, the thing that should be dropped in a pool of basilisk venom – no, the… houseguest safely ensconced in Grimmauld Place post-haste.

Sirius wandered aimlessly around the house, looking into his room, Regulus's room (which was still exactly as his little brother must have left it; as if Regulus had only gone to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade for an hour or two and would be back any minute instead of being long dead, and for some reason Sirius couldn't bear to do more than to open the door, look in, and leave hurriedly), and the spare room which would house the Horcrux.

Dumbledore had warded it to the rafters. So had Moody and Shacklebolt, who were told simply that it would be used as a storage room for all the Dark artefacts scattered around the house until something could be done with them. Sirius added a few wards himself. But he still found it hard to believe that one small room could keep a shard of You-Know-Who's soul contained.

Downstairs, the Floo roared. Sirius left the spare room and descended the staircases with his wand in hand and a dozen curses on his lips. He found both Dumbledore and Snape in the living room, accompanied by someone who could only be his extremely unwelcome guest.

The Horcrux didn't look like a shard of a psychopathic Dark Lord's soul that had committed at least one murder. It looked like an ordinary teenage boy in slightly outdated Hogwarts robes.

"Ah, there you are, Sirius," Dumbledore said, with far more cheer than the situation warranted. "Getting settled in all right?"

Sirius mumbled something that could have been assent or the vilest swearword he knew. Even he wasn't sure which.

"We've brought Riddle," the Headmaster continued.

Sirius almost made a snarky remark along the lines of, "And there I thought you'd brought a random Hogwarts student". He didn't. His sense of humour seemed to be one of the many things Azkaban had taken away from him, and it was all the fault of the monster he would be sharing his house with.

He felt a sudden surge of liking for St. Mungo's. All right, so the Healers were tyrants who refused to listen to him, and he had to spend his time answering ridiculous questions about his feelings and thoughts and what he wanted for his future, but it was still infinitely better than living in Grimmauld Place with Tom Riddle.

"Try not to kill him before he's answered our questions," Snape told him dryly. "We can't go around animating every Horcrux we find in hopes one of them will be able to help us find the others."

Sirius only half heard him. His entire attention was on the much more important matter of not picking up the poker and beating the Horcrux to death with it.

And then Dumbledore and Snape were gone, and Sirius was alone in Grimmauld Place. Well, as alone as it was possible to be with Tom Riddle glaring balefully at him.

* * *

The next few days were remarkably peaceful. The wards on the spare room held admirably, Riddle was trapped in the room unless Sirius let him out, and Sirius could forget all about him except at meal times. He would have let Kreacher take the Horcrux its meals, but he didn't trust the elf not to let Riddle escape. Ten years in Azkaban hadn't softened Kreacher's attitude towards "Master Blood Traitor" in the slightest.

At dinner of the fourth day of the Saga of the Unwanted Houseguest, Riddle dropped the bombshell.

"Are you ever going to let me out of here?" he asked in a thoroughly bored tone as Sirius opened the door.

"Not until Dumbledore comes to collect you."

"And, I suppose, there's nothing I could say to make you change your mind?"

"Nothing." The bare idea of that creature wandering all over a house filled to the brim with Dark magic was enough to give Sirius nightmares.

Riddle grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Not even if I told you there's a Horcrux hidden here?"


	29. Chapter 29: Locket, Basilisk and Tom

**A/N: This is the shortest chapter I've written so far :( Hopefully the next update will be longer…**

* * *

 **Chapter 29: The Locket, the Basilisk, and Tom**

 _Things are going round and round in my head - or maybe my head is going round and round in things._ **– Diana Wynne Jones,** _ **Howl's Moving Castle**_

Sirius dropped the Horcrux's dinner plate in shock. Then he winced, because there were few enough clean plates in the house that were safe to eat from, and one of them was now in pieces on the spare room floor amidst the mess that a minute ago had been egg and potatoes. The Horcrux looked impassively at the broken plate and ruined meal.

"You should be more careful," it said chidingly, in the sort of voice one would use when talking to a small child who couldn't be expected to know better.

Sirius was still reeling from the bombshell it had just dropped and so hardly heard it. There was a Horcrux in Grimmauld Place. Well, he shouldn't really be surprised; there were specimens of just about every other sort of Dark object lying around the place somewhere. None of his relatives had lived mysteriously long lives, so it was safe to assume the Horcrux in question hadn't been made by a Black. That meant…

"One of your Horcruxes is here?" he asked.

Riddle nodded, still looking thoroughly bored. "You needn't bother trying to find it. You won't be able to without my help."

Sirius aimed his wand at it. "Then help."

The Horcrux smiled coolly. "Why should I? It is, after all, part of my soul."

Sirius lowered his wand and stared at it. Then he swore. He used every swear word he'd heard as an Auror and every Muggle swear word he'd heard from Muggleborns both at Hogwarts and over the years since. When he'd exhausted that supply, he moved on to conjecturing on Tom Riddle's ancestry, mental state, appearance, personal hygiene, choice of bed-mates, and where he could expect to spend the hereafter. The animated Horcrux listened with interest.

"Go on," it said when he paused for breath after insinuating its mother had engaged in activities not normally mentioned in polite society. "You're being most amusing. By the way, is it possible to do that to a Hippogriff?"

Sirius clenched his fists and tried to resist the temptation to punch it. He should have known better than to suggest sharing a house with a piece of You-Know-Who's soul. He'd be stark raving mad before the day was out if this continued. "You're supposed to help us find your soul."

"But why?" it asked. It obviously didn't expect an answer, since it continued, "You want me to help you find and destroy pieces of my soul, the keys to my immortality. Do you honestly expect me to go along with this plan?"

A long, uncomfortable silence descended. Sirius realised he was gaping like a fish and hurriedly shut his mouth.

"Do _something_ useful and clean that up," he said at last, gesturing to the ruined dinner. He hadn't time to do it himself; he needed to tell Dumbledore about this.

The Horcrux scowled. "In case you've forgotten, I don't have a wand."

"I haven't forgotten." Sirius transfigured the remains of the plate into a sponge and a rubbish bin. "You can clean it up the Muggle way."

An assortment of absolutely vile curses that rivalled his earlier tirade followed him out the door.

* * *

Neither Dumbledore nor Snape answered when he called them. Sirius sat back on the floor of the living room and wondered what to do next.

There was one of You-Know-Who's Horcruxes somewhere in Grimmauld Place. The animated Horcrux refused to say what or where it was. He had no hope of finding it on his own; he'd need someone who knew the house better than he did or knew how to identify a Horcrux. Sirius had never heard of You-Know-Who coming to Grimmauld Place, so he must have given it to one of the Blacks in his ranks. Neither Orion nor Walburga had been Death Eaters, and Bellatrix had never lived at Grimmauld Place, so Regulus must have left it there.

"Kreacher!" he shouted.

The house-elf appeared with a _pop_.

"What does Master Blood Traitor want?" it sneered, looking at Sirius as if he was something utterly revolting.

"Did Regulus bring any Dark artefacts home after Death Eater meetings?" Sirius asked, then winced. Kreacher didn't like anyone using "Good Master Regulus's" name. "Something that belonged to You-Know-Who himself, for instance?"

The elf gaped. "How does Master Blood Traitor know?"

So it _was_ Regulus. His brother dropped even lower in his estimation.

Kreacher started to bang his head against the fireplace, to Sirius's astonishment. "Kreacher tried to follow Good Master Regulus's last order. Kreacher did his best, but he could not destroy the locket!"

…What was all this about destroying a locket? He assumed the locket was the Horcrux – his little brother had many flaws, but as far as he knew wantonly destroying perfectly harmless pieces of jewellery wasn't one of them – but why would a loyal Death Eater like Regulus want to destroy it?

"What was his last order?"

The house-elf pulled at its ears. "Good Master Regulus wanted Kreacher to destroy the locket. Kreacher tried, but he could not!"

"Do you still have this locket?" The elf nodded dejectedly. "Bring it to me."

Kreacher vanished and reappeared in the space of a few seconds. When he returned he held a locket that positively radiated Dark magic. Just being near it set Sirius's teeth on edge.

"Will Master Blood Traitor destroy the locket?" Kreacher asked hopefully.

"I'll try," he said.

* * *

"FRED! GEORGE!"

Harry almost jumped out of his skin. Ron started so violently he almost fell off his broom. Their impromptu Quidditch match came to a halt as they watched Mrs. Weasley storm out of the Burrow. The twins, who were on bended knee begging Remus to accept them as his apprentices in the art of causing chaos, hastily got up and awaited their mother's arrival. Remus, who was trying to keep score of the Quidditch match, looked decidedly relieved.

Mrs. Weasley bore down on them. Even from where he was hovering, over a yard away, Harry could see she looked so furious it was a wonder smoke wasn't billowing from her ears.

"Hello, Mum," said one of the twins. "Did you like what we did to the living room? We thought it looked a bit dull as it was."

"We wanted to make Harry feel at home," the other one chimed in, "so we took it upon ourselves to redecorate. Do you like it?"

"LIKE IT?" Mrs. Weasley thundered. She appeared to be currently incapable of speaking normally. Maybe Harry was imagining it, but it looked like she was trying desperately not to laugh. " _Like_ it? You are going to remove all those drawings right now!"

"But, Mum, we thought you'd like them," said the first twin, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "We're thinking of sending them in to the Daily Prophet."

"We could make a series," the second one agreed. "'The Many Deaths of Mouldy Voldy'. I think the one of Harry pushing You-Know-Who into a pool full of piranhas is the best one, don't you?"

Harry looked at Ron. Ron looked at Harry.

"Do I even want to know?" Harry asked.

"Probably not," Ron said.

Below them, Mrs. Weasley told the twins that as interesting as the fates they invented for certain Dark wizards were, the drawings of said fates belonged on parchment, not the living room floor. The twins protested that they had only been drawing rough drafts and would scrub the floor clean as soon as they were finished.

Harry happened to glance towards the house and promptly did a double take. That couldn't be… It was!

"Sirius!" he shouted.

Mrs. Weasley, Remus, Ron and the twins looked round. Sure enough, Sirius was approaching them. And behind him was… Professor Snape?

There was a confused moment when everyone was talking at once.

"Why didn't you say you were coming?" Mrs. Weasley asked when things quietened down.

"We're not here on a social call," Professor Snape said. "We're here to bring Potter back to Hogwarts for an hour or two."

Harry blinked. "What have I done?"

"Nothing," Sirius hastened to add. "We just need to talk to someone, and he's more likely to listen to you than us. By the way, who drew those pictures in the living room?"

Mrs. Weasley groaned.

"We did!" the twins said in unison.

Sirius gave them an approving look. "They're brilliant, especially that one of You-Know-Who being hit by lightning. Do you think you could draw them all again? On paper? I know someone who'd _love_ to see them, but he can't come here."

"Of course," the first twin said at once.

"On condition you make us your apprentices," the second one said. "We tried asking _him_ -" he pointed at Remus, "-but he wouldn't."

Professor Snape looked like his worst nightmares were coming true.

* * *

"You want me to what?" Harry wasn't sure he heard properly.

"We want you to speak to the basilisk and ask it if it would destroy a few things for us," Sirius repeated as they walked up to Hogwarts.

"…But why?" Harry couldn't for the life of him understand this plan.

"Because the only other way to destroy the objects in question is Fiendfyre, which is extremely difficult to control and often causes the death of the caster," Professor Snape told him.

"Oh." Put like that, this idea made a lot more sense. "So, what do I ask it?"

"Ask it if it would be willing to give us one of its fangs or some of its venom," said Professor Snape.

* * *

" _Hello? Jormungand?_ Was that in English?"

Sirius shook his head. Professor Snape looked slightly ill.

" _Hello, speaker. What do you wish to ask me?_ "

"He's answered," Harry said for the benefit of his companions. " _There are some dangerous things my friends want to find and destroy. Could you give us some of your venom or your fangs?_ "

" _What use would my venom be to you?_ "

Harry relayed this to his godfather and the professor.

" _It's the only thing that can destroy the Horcruxes,_ " he said, and cringed. He was pretty sure he wasn't meant to say what it was they wanted destroyed.

" _Horcruxes?_ " the basilisk sounded extremely offended. " _What foolish wizard would make a Horcrux?_ "

" _One that's not exactly sane,_ " Harry said. " _He's supposed to be dead now, and we want to stop him coming back. But we need your help._ "

The basilisk was silent for a long minute. " _I will help. Bring the Horcrux to me when you find it._ "

"He said he'll help," Harry told the others.

"I never thought I'd see the day when I asked a basilisk for help," Professor Snape muttered. "Well, where is this locket?"

"Still at Grimmauld Place," Sirius said.

Professor Snape stared at him. "You mean we've come all this way, enlisted a basilisk's help, and we can't even destroy one Horc – er, one of the objects?"

Sirius had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. "I didn't want to spend more time around it than I had to, so I left it at Grimmauld Place."

Professor Snape looked like he wanted to hex something. "Go and fetch it."

Sirius began to say something about not taking orders from a slimy Slytherin. Then, for some reason, he reconsidered.

"I have to collect something from the Weasleys', anyway," he said as he left, as if going back to Grimmauld Place was entirely his idea.

* * *

Tom was jolted out of a sound sleep by someone opening the door of his cell – it might be a moderately-sized spare room, but it was still a cell as far as he was concerned. It was the wizard Dumbledore had made his jailor. A Black, apparently, though how Orion could be related to someone who worked for Dumbledore was an impenetrable mystery.

"I thought you might want something to read," Black said with a grin that boded no good.

He tossed a collection of parchment sheets stuck together at Tom, who caught it on reflex. As he left, the Horcrux eyed it curiously. What was this? 'The Many Deaths of Mouldy Voldy, by Messrs. Weasley and Weasley'?

A few minutes later, the halls of Grimmauld Place resounded with a great deal of angry shouting and the sound of parchment being torn to shreds.


	30. Chapter 30: Mostly About Sirius

**A/N: It's official: I can't update on time anymore. I didn't update at all last week, and I won't even bother saying I'll try to update on time next week, since I probably won't :(**

 **Well, this chapter's (just barely) longer than the last one, but it's also my least favourite chapter so far. I made the mistake of drinking two cups of coffee at supper one evening last week, and as a result I wrote most of this at three A.M. while sleep-deprived and on a caffeine high, and I'm pretty sure it shows :(**

 **Thirty chapters already, and when I started I thought the story would be finished in twenty at the most. Oh well, these things happen.**

 **Skendo asked for more Sirius and Tom banter. I** _ **tried**_ **to work it in, but Tom refused to obey and Sirius got angry and… well, let's just say nothing worked out as planned.**

* * *

 **Chapter 30: Mostly About Sirius**

 _We can never go back again, that much is certain. The past is still close to us. The things we have tried to forget and put behind us would stir again, and that sense of fear, of furtive unrest, struggling at length to blind unreasoning panic - now mercifully stilled, thank God - might in some manner unforeseen become a living companion as it had before._ **– Daphne du Maurier,** _ **Rebecca**_

The next morning Sirius woke up feeling more optimistic than he had since being released from Azkaban. One Horcrux was destroyed, Tom Riddle was humiliated and hopefully would be more helpful from now on, and they were going to search Hogwarts for the other Horcrux Dumbledore thought was there as soon as the Headmaster returned from wherever he was.

As he prepared Riddle's breakfast, Sirius felt that all was right with the world and nothing could possibly go wrong. This was extremely foolish of him. Anyone with a working brain knows that the more convinced someone is that nothing can go wrong, the more things will go spectacularly wrong. You might as well outright dare Fate to make something unpleasant happen.

The owl from the _Daily Prophet_ arrived with today's newspaper. He took the paper from it and gave the front page a cursory glance.

 _PETTIGREW ESCAPES! TRAITOR VANISHES FROM AZKABAN! AURORS BAFFLED!_

Sirius dropped the newspaper in shock. He stared at it, lying scattered across the kitchen floor, as if it was some normally harmless creature that had unexpectedly jumped up and bit him. He couldn't quite bring himself to pick it up again.

Disbelief was his immediate reaction. It couldn't possibly be true. No one could escape from Azkaban; it must be some twisted prank on the part of the newspaper. On disbelief's heels came rage. How _dare_ that bastard escape? Hadn't he caused enough misery already?

He wanted to hunt down Pettigrew and tear him to shreds. Instead he staggered into the living room, stumbled over to the Floo and called Remus.

"Moony? Are you there?"

Remus answered almost immediately. Sirius was briefly thrown off-guard by his remarkably non-threadbare suit.

"Are you going on a date?" he asked, forgetting the shock he'd received less than a minute earlier.

"Of course not," Remus said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to apply for a job."

"Oh." Then Sirius remembered his reason for calling. "Have you seen today's _Prophet_?"

"I don't get it anymore," Remus said. "Is it that Skeeter creature again? Or have the twins convinced the _Prophet_ to print those drawings of theirs?"

"No. That-" He only just stopped himself from venting his feelings on the subject of Pettigrew. "A certain rat we know has escaped from Azkaban."

There was a very long silence. Shock, horror, disbelief and fury played across Remus's face.

"Please tell me you're joking," he said in the very quiet, very calm voice he always used when he was on the verge of exploding with rage.

"If only." Sirius Summoned the paper and shoved it through the Floo. "See for yourself."

Remus read it several times through. Then he calmly and methodically folded it up and set it down on the nearest chair.

"I think we should talk to Albus about this," he said, still in the same quiet voice. Sirius began to feel very alarmed about his friend's mental state – a feeling that was, it must be said, quite hypocritical.

"Are you all right?"

"All right?" Remus echoed incredulously. "Of course I'm not all right! But throwing a tantrum won't change anything and it won't help Harry."

 _Harry_. Sirius blanched. He'd completely forgotten about Harry. Harry, who'd either already seen the newspaper or soon would see it. Harry, who Pettigrew was bound to come after sooner or later.

"You talk to Dumbledore; I need to check on Harry," he said, and ended the call. He called the Weasleys immediately after.

Mr. Weasley answered. "Oh, hello, Sirius. I suppose this is about the _Prophet_ article."

"It is. Is Harry all right? Has he seen it yet?"

Arthur shook his head. "How many eleven-year-olds do you know who make a habit of reading the _Prophet_? He hasn't seen it and we haven't told him yet. Should we?"

Sirius realised with a jolt of surprise that for the first time someone was asking _him_ for advice on something unrelated to causing mayhem. It was gave him an unnerved feeling.

"I'll come over as soon as I can. I'll tell him then."

He returned to the kitchen. His gaze instantly fell upon the sandwiches he'd made for the living Horcrux. Damn it, he'd forgotten all about it, and it would probably object to having its breakfast delayed. He'd better get that over and done with.

* * *

Riddle was lying on the bed, its arms folded behind its head, when Sirius unlocked the door. The floor was littered with pieces of paper, making it quite clear what the Horcrux had thought of the twins' masterpiece.

"You ruined an excellent piece of art, which two people spent a lot of time and effort making," he said in the tone of mild reproof Remus had used when either Sirius or James had done something unusually stupid.

Riddle snorted. "I would dearly like to meet Messrs. Weasley and Weasley, so I can let them know exactly how much I appreciate their hard work."

"The day you're let out of here – except to help us find your Horcruxes – will be the day Fudge does something sensible," Sirius told him as he set Riddle's breakfast down on the bedside table and turned to leave.

The Horcrux's next words made him stop abruptly.

"Who was Regulus?"

Sirius spun round and glared daggers at it. Even he was slightly surprised at the viciousness in his voice as he hissed, "What do you know about Regulus?"

"Nothing, really." Riddle didn't even deign to look at him. "I overheard that demented house-elf muttering about him. I presume he's a Black, probably your brother, and I seem to have some vague memories of meeting him, though I know for a fact I never did. I can only suppose that I have gained some of my older self's memories."

Sirius hardly heard its last comment. By the time Regulus died they hadn't spoken civilly in years, but he was still his brother, and he'd be damned if he let this creature gloat over his death. "Don't you _dare_ mention him again. If it wasn't for you and your evil group, he'd still be alive."

"Ah, so he was a Death Eater then." Riddle looked intolerably smug. "How that must have burned; being Dumbledore's loyal slave and knowing your brother worked for me. But then, you're from a very Dark family, aren't you? How many of your relatives were Death Eaters, I wonder? How many of Dumbledore's followers thought you were a spy? No wonder no one questioned you being sent to Azkaban."

The next few minutes were a blur. The next thing Sirius knew, he had his hands around Riddle's throat and the Horcrux's struggles were growing ever weaker. He let go and jumped back, horrified. As angry as he was, he hadn't meant to try to _kill_ it, especially since it was their only real chance of finding the other Horcruxes. For a minute he was afraid Riddle was dead, but then it gasped for breath.

It sat up and stared at him in silence. Then it spoke, its voice a hoarse croak. "You must be Orion's son. That's how he reacted when he found out I was a half-blood."

He recoiled as if Riddle had punched him. He turned and staggered blindly out the door, slamming it closed behind him. He completely forgot to lock it.

* * *

The Blacks had always been noted for being an ill-tempered, vicious bunch, and Sirius had to admit that prior to being Sorted into Gryffindor he had been no different from the rest. There had been many times when he and Regulus were children when an argument had started and ended with them hitting and biting each other hard enough to leave bruises and draw blood until one of their parents separated them. He had vague memories of kicking his mother once, when he was five at the most, and being hexed to within an inch of his life for it.

After his Sorting, after meeting James and Remus, he had tried to gain control of his temper, and he had _thought_ he'd succeeded until the day he ran away. Uncle Cygnus and his family had paid a visit, and Bellatrix had made a point of announcing her opinions of James at the top of her lungs to anyone who would listen. Sirius had punched her, at least twice, with enough force to leave her with a black eye and a bruised face for weeks afterwards. (It must be said that she gave him almost as good as she got, but he still regretted the incident.) He had fled when he returned to his senses, and never came back. After that he'd sworn he would never let himself get that angry again.

He had, twice. The first time was when he hunted down and tried to kill Peter (which he didn't regret, despite the unpleasant consequences), and this was the second. Once he calmed down he felt terrible about it. Trying to tell himself that Riddle deserved it didn't help. But as guilty as he felt, _nothing_ would have induced him to go and apologise.

Sirius went in search of the bottles of Muggle alcohol he'd bought before moving in to Grimmauld Place. It might still be morning, but he needed a drink.

He collapsed into a chair in the living room and poured himself a glass of absinthe. Overhead, the floorboards creaked in a way that suggested someone was creeping quietly down the landing. Sirius didn't notice.

He finished the glass and poured himself another. His thoughts turned to what Riddle had said about Regulus, and from there to what Kreacher had said about Regulus and the now-destroyed Horcrux.

"Kreacher!"

The house-elf popped into the room. "Has Master Blood Traitor destroyed the locket?"

"Yes." Sirius didn't go into any more detail. "How did Regulus get the locket?"

Kreacher looked like he was on the verge of tears. It was an extremely disturbing sight. "Good Master Regulus stole it. He told Kreacher it was bad and must be destroyed. He made another locket and put it where he found the bad locket, but he could not leave. He told Kreacher to destroy the locket." The house-elf began hitting its head against the floor. "Kreacher tried to follow Good Master Regulus's orders, but he could not!"

"All right, all right," Sirius said hurriedly. "It's destroyed now. Did Regulus know about any other objects like it?"

Kreacher thought for a moment. "Mistress Bellatrix told Good Master Regulus of how her master had given her something to keep safe."

Bellatrix. Of course he'd give her one. The question was, where was it?

"Thank you, Kreacher," Sirius said.

The house-elf disappeared. There was a noise further down the hall that sounded like someone opening and closing the front door very quietly, but Sirius didn't notice. He was too busy wondering where Bellatrix might have hidden the Horcrux, and how in Merlin's name they were to find it.

A tap-tap at the window snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see an eagle owl he couldn't remember ever seeing before waiting impatiently on the windowsill. Curious, he opened the window. The owl offered him the letter it carried, and flew away the minute he took it with an air of being glad to leave.

 _What an odd owl,_ he thought as he opened the letter.

It had apparently been written in a hurry, since there were a few scratched-out words and a hastily-blotted-out ink blot.

 _Dear Mr. Black,_ it read,

 _I am Draco Malfoy, Harry's friend. I write to inform you that my mother has become obsessed with the idea of my marrying Harry and won't take no for an answer. She wishes to arrange an engagement before the year is over. Please find some way of using your authority as Harry's godfather to prevent this happening without letting her know I told you._

 _Sincerely, Draco Malfoy._

Sirius reread the letter several times to make sure he hadn't misunderstood anything in it. Then he burst out laughing. He'd have been hard pressed to explain why if anyone had been around to ask him, but there was just something utterly ridiculous about the idea of Harry getting engaged, and besides, he needed a good laugh after the morning he'd had.

At last he stopped laughing and tried to think of some way to make Narcissa give up her hopes of a marriage between Harry and her daughter. Nothing came to mind.

* * *

By dinnertime, Sirius had swallowed his pride enough to decide to offer Riddle an apology. As he prepared its dinner he tried to think of what to say, and as he approached its door he decided a simple, "Sorry about earlier. Won't happen again" would suffice.

He tried to unlock the door. It was already unlocked. He berated himself for his stupidity as he opened it. The Horcrux could have escaped because of his –

He dropped the dinner-plate in shock and horror.

The room was empty.


	31. Chapter 31: Harry in Knockturn Alley

**A/N: Apparently last week's chapter wasn't as much of a train wreck as I thought. Good to know :)**

 **Late again :( Only one day late this time, but still… And the chapter's quite short. Hope no one minds.**

 **I realised when writing this that I completely forgot to mention Percy and Penelope being given the Mandrake potion. Just assume that it happened, but was left out.**

* * *

 **Chapter 31: Harry's Adventures in Knockturn Alley**

 _Violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another._ **– Arthur Conan Doyle,** _ **The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes**_

Tom stopped in astonishment when he stepped out of the house. He had never been in the Black house, but had assumed it was somewhere magical. Instead, he found himself on a street in Muggle London. What possessed the Blacks to put their house _here_?

Well, it was of no consequence. The longer he stayed here the more likely it was that Black would notice his absence and come in search of him. He set off down the street.

* * *

"Now, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley kindly, "you know how to use a Floo, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry said. He'd never used a Floo on his own before, but all five Weasley children were watching so his pride refused to let him admit it. The twins might decide to play some sort of Floo-related prank on him.

"Good. Just take a handful of powder and say, 'Diagon Alley'."

Harry obeyed. When he put his hand in the jar of Floo power, a cloud of the stuff flew into the air and made him cough.

"D-Diagon *cough* Alley!" he gasped, and the Floo whirled him away.

Back in the Burrow, the Weasleys stared at the now-empty fireplace in consternation.

" _What_ did he say?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "It sounded like 'digonly'."

* * *

Half an hour after leaving Grimmauld Place, Tom had to accept an unpleasant truth: he was lost. In more ways than one, actually, since he had no idea where he was and also was thoroughly confused by the sights he saw. Cars, trains and planes were familiar to him, and were still recognisable despite the drastic differences in their appearance now compared to their appearance in the forties.

What was truly shocking was the people. It seemed everything was permitted now. Almost everyone he saw was mumbling or shouting into a small handheld rectangle. He saw crowds of men and women sporting various garish hair colours never found in nature, and since they were all as Muggle as it was possible to be it was obviously not because they were Metamorphmagi. He saw men and women who went around looking like they'd never used a comb in their life and with their clothes badly torn, yet they didn't appear to be beggars and no one sneered at their obvious poverty. He saw women wearing skirts so short he couldn't understand why they hadn't been arrested for public indecency. And the strange thing was that most people looked at his clothes and neatly-combed hair as if there was something wrong with _him_.

Everything he saw only strengthened his conviction that Muggles were utterly inferior to wizards. Really, he thought, all he would have to do to win Purebloods and wizard-raised half-bloods to his side this time would be to make them spend a few minutes in Muggle London.

He gave up on trying to find The Leaky Cauldron on his own and so asked a random passer-by for directions to the street it was on. He was given a highly complicated set of instructions that he memorized as best he could.

* * *

Sirius's first action was to call Dumbledore. There was an animated Horcrux wandering around London; they needed a search party out immediately.

Albus listened in silence as Sirius described the situation (leaving out _why_ he forgot to lock the door, of course).

"I'll send Minerva over to help you look for him," he said. "You're sure he hasn't a wand? He couldn't, by any chance, have found one?"

"If he had a wand, don't you think he'd have hexed me before running off?" Sirius asked.

"True enough. I'll find Minerva; see if there are any clues to where he might have gone."

"Isn't it obvious? He'll have gone straight to Knockturn Alley."

* * *

Harry shot out of a fireplace and slid across the floor of an unfamiliar room, stirring up dust and sending an assortment of insects scurrying for cover. Coughing, he sat up and wiped his glasses on his sleeve. Then he surveyed his new surroundings. He was in some sort of shop; the dirtiest, ugliest shop he'd ever seen, selling the strangest, more disturbing items he'd ever seen. He hoped and prayed that the skulls in the display cases were imitation. And was that a human hand?

He scrambled to his feet, wiped as much dust and grime off his robes as was humanly possible, and took a step towards the door he could vaguely see on the other side of a display case. A step was all he managed, since said door swung open abruptly.

He dived into a convenient cupboard before anyone could see him and waited for whoever had arrived to leave.

Footsteps crossed the room overhead and descended a flight of stairs.

"Why, Mr. Malfoy!" an extremely obsequious voice exclaimed. "What can I do for you today?"

 _Malfoy_? Harry risked a glance out the door. Sure enough, Draco's father stood at the counter.

 _What's_ he _doing here?_ Harry wondered.

"I have some more items to sell you," Mr. Malfoy replied coolly.

Harry listened carefully to the rest of the conversation, but all he learned from it was that Mr. Malfoy owned some unspecified objects that were in danger of being discovered during a raid (he'd heard Blaise and Theo complaining about these, and so knew that the Ministry occasionally searched some people's houses in hopes of finding Dark objects) and the shopkeeper was willing to buy them. It raised the question of _why_ Mr. Malfoy owned Dark objects in the first place, but since most Slytherin families did there was nothing very unusual about it.

Mr. Malfoy left, and the shopkeeper trudged back upstairs, muttering to himself. Harry waited until he was sure no one was around before dashing out of the cupboard, across the room, and out the door.

He found himself standing in an unfamiliar street, surrounded by shops that – to judge by their outward appearance – were not the sort of places second-year students were supposed to go. He started walking down the street, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible while searching for a way out. He was so preoccupied with wondering where he was that he didn't notice there was anyone near him until he walked right into them.

* * *

Tom finally found his way to the Leakey Cauldron. It, at least, had not changed since his last visit. The same could not be said of its surroundings. He sincerely hoped he never had to venture out of the Wizarding world again, unless it was to take over the Muggle world. He'd become hopelessly lost the minute he set foot outside Diagon Alley.

He still didn't have a wand, so he was subjected to the humiliation for asking the bartender to let him into Diagon Alley. He immediately made a mental note to steal, borrow or otherwise acquire the money for a wand at the earliest opportunity. Not only was he at a severe disadvantage should he for whatever reason have to fight, he couldn't even perform the simplest spells.

Speaking of Diagon Alley, it had changed somewhat over the years, though unlike Muggle London it was at least recognisable. He found the entrance to Knockturn Alley easily.

Until now, he'd had no fixed plan of what he meant to do after escaping Black. He'd had some vague idea of trying to find out what happened to his older self and – if possible – of joining him. He would most likely have to look in Knockturn Alley for someone with that sort of information, so he turned down it. He was approaching Borgin and Burke's when someone ran headlong into him.

It was Harry Potter.

Potter started to mumble an apology before he realised just who he'd walked into. He gave Tom a look that was outraged and horrified in equal measure.

"What are _you_ doing here? Where's Sirius?" he hissed. Then his eyes widened. "What happened to your neck? It's black and blue!"

Tom almost flinched. He hadn't realised that his near-strangulation would leave marks. "You can blame my former jailor – Sirius, is it? – for that. I am no longer a captive of your dear Sirius, and I advise you to stand aside this minute."

Potter replied by drawing his wand and pointing it squarely between Tom's eyes. "I don't know how you got out of Grimmauld Place, but I'm taking you back. Right now."

Tom raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're a first year; what spells do you know that would be of any help to you in this situation? Perhaps you intend to levitate me back to my prison."

"I'm a _second_ year, or will be when school starts again, and you'd be surprised what spells I know."

The boy was so obviously bluffing it was laughable. Tom didn't even bother hiding his smirk.

Potter continued, "Besides, I'm the only one of us who has a wand. Even if I only used a Jelly-Legs Jinx you wouldn't be able to undo it."

Tom lost his smirk.

"You wouldn't dare-" he hissed, starting towards Potter.

The second year stumbled back and shouted the incantation for the Jelly-Legs Jinx. A minute later Tom was very embarrassed to find himself on the ground.

" _Finite Incantatem_!"

He got up and glared at Potter, fuming at the indignity of it. He, Tom Riddle, _Lord Voldemort_ , had been humiliated by a basic hex cast by a child. It was infuriating. The brat was utterly unrepentant.

"We're going back to Grimmauld Place. Now."

* * *

They got as far as Gringotts before Black appeared, followed by a red-haired man and woman, and… was that _Minerva McGonagall_?

"Harry!" Black yelped, then did a double take upon seeing the tableau before him. "Where were you? The Weasleys – Oh, er, you found Riddle."

"What happened to you, child?" the red-haired woman asked as she pulled Potter into a hug. "We were so worried when we couldn't find you. Did you miss the fireplace? Oh, well, it happens to everyone. Who's this?"

Tom hardly heard them. He was too busy gaping at Minerva in a way most unsuited to aspiring Dark Lords. Could this elderly woman really be the beautiful Quidditch player who had at least half the boys in the school vying for her notice?

Minerva looked at him as if he was something unpleasant she'd just stepped in while wearing her best shoes. "Well, we found him, now let's bring him back before he runs away again. And for Merlin's sake, Sirius, _lock the door_ next time! Molly, Arthur, I expect Albus will explain everything to you. Mr. Potter, you can put your wand away now. Good gracious, Riddle! What happened to your neck?"

Black looked extremely guilty. Tom derived a great deal of satisfaction from his obvious discomfort.

* * *

"W-What do you want me to do, Master?" Pettigrew whimpered, trembling both in fear and from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus.

"I want you to find a way into Hogwarts, to stay there until the students arrive, to take blood from Harry Potter – I do not care how you do it, as long as you leave him alive – and to bring it to me," Voldemort hissed.

"But how, Master?" Pettigrew squeaked.

"That is for you to decide. Surely your miniscule brain can think of something. Now go." As the escaped convict scurried towards the door, Voldemort added, "I trust you know what will happen if you fail."

* * *

"Well, I hope you're proud of yourself," Sirius grumbled as he marched the Horcrux at wandpoint up the stairs to its room. "If you set out to cause trouble for everyone, you succeeded."

"I set out to escape," it replied sharply. "And I would have succeeded if not for that utterly unSlytherin brat. I notice you haven't questioned why he was down Knockturn Alley."

"He was lost, as you would have heard if you hadn't been gaping at Minerva the whole time," Sirius retorted even as he made a mental note to tell Harry to never, _never_ go anywhere near Knockturn Alley again. "I don't think she's interested in shards of a Dark Lord's soul, if that was why you were staring."

Riddle snorted. "I was staring because the last time I saw her she was sixteen, not seventy."

Sirius filed away the information that Minerva had apparently once known Tom Riddle. By now they had reached the Horcrux's room.

"Get inside," Sirius said, keeping his wand aimed at it.

The Horcrux obliged, looking extremely annoyed.

As he began to close the door, it said, "By the way, I hope you're proud of yourself. If you hadn't lost your temper, I wouldn't have been able to escape."

Sirius had learned from his mistakes. He took the time to close and lock the door, tested it to make sure it was locked, and put the key in his pocket. _Then_ he shouted obscenities.

On the other side of the door, Riddle laughed.


	32. Chapter 32: Narcissa the Matchmaker

**A/N: This update's a week late. Again. So from now on I'm changing the deadline to Wednesday. Let's see if I can keep to it :) I wanted this chapter to be longer, but since I also wanted to update sometime this year, it's a lot shorter than it was supposed to be.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate all the reviews this story has gotten, even the critical ones. A small request, though: if you write a critical review, please tell me what it is that you don't like or think needs improvement. It'd be very helpful if you did.**

 **I'll probably skim over second year, so expect the next few chapters to contain a few time skips.**

* * *

 **Chapter 32: Narcissa the Matchmaker**

 _It was foolish, it was wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any two people together._ **– Jane Austen,** _ **Emma**_

Harry had thought it was utterly impossible Quirrell look competent. He was wrong. The new DADA teacher, one Gilderoy Lockhart, was doing precisely that. After the Slytherin second years had their first lesson of the year with him, most of them gathered in the common room to complain.

Well, the ones who weren't blinded by his good looks gathered to complain.

"But he must be a good teacher!" Millie insisted for the umpteenth time. "He's written all those books about his adventures!"

"You do know most of the things in those books are impossible?" Theo said, thoroughly bored. "Especially what he wrote about vampires. I should know; my great-aunt married a vampire, and he hasn't got even one detail right."

Draco nodded in agreement. "He's a liar, an idiot, and if I have to answer one more question along the lines of 'What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite food?' I'll murder him."

Harry had spent most of his holidays around Sirius, Remus and the twins, all of whom were pranksters (even if Remus was trying to be a responsible adult now). An idea all of them would have been proud of popped into his mind. He grinned. "Why murder him? You'd get in too much trouble. Why not ask the house elves to take all his hair care products so we can donate them to the merfolk?"

* * *

"You're imagining it, Lockhart," Minerva snapped at dinner a few days later. "Why in Merlin's name would anyone steal whatever vile mixtures you put in your hair? How could they even get into your quarters?"

"It's the Slytherins, I _know_ it!" Lockhart insisted. "They laughed as soon as they saw me today!"

"I don't think there's anything odd about that," Pomona said with uncharacteristic sarcasm. "I feel like either laughing or crying every time you open your mouth."

Lockhart hadn't the intelligence to notice the insult. "Why, thank you, Pomona. Women have often told me-"

Severus spared them the agony of having to listen to his incessant prattling by casting a Silencing spell on him. He didn't even notice.

The other teachers heaved a sigh of relief.

"If anyone _did_ steal those concoctions of his, they're either more vain than he is or trying to make an even bigger fool of him than he makes of himself," Minerva grumbled. "If it's the former, Merlin help us. If it's the latter, I commend them. But frankly, I think he's simply forgotten where he put them or something. He's stupid enough."

Severus said nothing, but he gave the Slytherin table – and the group of second years who wore grins that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame – an approving nod.

* * *

Sirius and Riddle spent the next few months dancing around each other with a skill that would put many a professional dancer to shame. Their only interactions were when Sirius brought Riddle its food, and neither spoke a word to each other the entire time. It was starting to get on Sirius's nerves. He'd thought the Horcrux Hunt would be over and done with in a month at the most, but Dumbledore hadn't even told him what their next move was yet, and it was looking increasingly like Riddle was here to stay.

The same thought seemed to have occurred to Riddle.

"If I am to be here for the term of my natural life, could you at least give me a book?" it asked him one morning when he brought it breakfast.

Sirius blinked, taken aback. This was the first time they'd spoken since the Horcrux's escape attempt.

"…A book?" he repeated.

Riddle nodded. "Haven't you don't you know what a book is? I'll define it for you, then: book, noun, lines of words printed on sheets of paper bound together. I would like one so I have something to read."

"I know what a book is," Sirius retorted, nettled. "You won't trick me into giving you books of Dark Magic, so you might as well give up."

"I wasn't trying to trick you."

Sirius thought of the books in the house. As far as he knew every single one of them was either about Dark Magic or a description of outrageous pranks. He didn't want either of those falling into Riddle's hands, so the Horcrux would simply have to come with being bored.

Then an idea struck him. He grinned. "I'll get you an entire library if you want."

Riddle looked very suspicious at his sudden change of heart.

* * *

"Here are those books you wanted!" Sirius said brightly, setting a large pile of books down on the floor.

Riddle eyed them dubiously. "What are they about?"

"You'll have to read them to find out."

As Sirius left and locked the door, Riddle picked up the first book in the pile (which had the cheerful, not in the slightest bit depressing title of _Bleak House_. Extremely fitting, given his surroundings) and flicked through it. A minute later there was an outraged shout.

"These are _Muggle_ books!"

* * *

It was less than two weeks into second year, and Harry couldn't stand it anymore. Everywhere he went he was followed by an annoying Gryffindor brat who insisted on taking photos of him despite his protests. When he tried to escape said Gryffindor brat, he usually ran into Gilderoy Lockhart, who seemed convinced that Harry needed his help "coping with fame". It was enough to make him want to run away screaming.

That was how he came to be hiding behind a shelf in the library.

"Hello," a voice said behind him.

Spending his holidays around a group of notorious pranksters had done what a term in Slytherin couldn't do. It had made him paranoid. He drew his wand and spun round, jabbing it towards the intruder.

The intruder was a small, blonde Ravenclaw girl who gave him a vague sort of smile. She didn't seem to notice that he had his wand aimed between her eyes. "Are you looking for the Mously Crinders? I've noticed they tend to prefer the Arithmancy shelves."

"Er," said Harry eloquently. What on Earth was a Mously Crinder and why would he be looking for one?

The girl didn't look at all fazed by his inability to reply. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you? I'm Luna Lovegood."

"Pleased to meet you," Harry said politely. Odd though this girl was, she hadn't done anything to warrant him being rude to her.

"Don't worry about it; they'll stop chasing you when they realise you're really very ordinary," Luna said as if they were old friends in the middle of a conversation that had been interrupted, and she was returning to the original subject. "Or when the Nargles lose interest in them."

Harry smiled and nodded, and gave up hope of having an intelligible conversation with her.

* * *

Sirius finally found an opportunity of confronting Narcissa about her matrimonial plans for Draco and Harry. He received an invitation to a party at the Ministry of Magic in honour of Cornelius Fudge. He knew it was the sort of invitation people sent out to be polite, not because they wanted the invited person to come. He accepted anyway, because he knew the Malfoys would be there and this would give him a chance to dissuade them from matchmaking.

This left him with the problem of what to do with Riddle.

The Horcrux had caused remarkably little trouble lately. He'd made good on his promise to give it an entire library, and now he couldn't take a step into the room without knocking over a pile of books – all Muggle books, of course. As much as Riddle grumbled and made sarcastic remarks about this, several of the previously brand new books now showed signs of having been read several times. Apparently the Horcrux had developed a liking for Muggle horror novels. This should not have surprised him as much as it did.

But even though Riddle had its books to occupy it, Sirius felt that leaving it on its own in Grimmauld Place would be a recipe for disaster. So, he owled a letter to Remus. "Letter" might be stretching it a bit, since this was all it said:

 _Moony,_

 _Would you mind house-sitting for me?_

Remus replied quickly.

 _ **Padfoot,**_

 _ **Why do you need a house-sitter? Are you running away from an angry girlfriend again?**_

 _Moony,_

 _That only happened once!_

 _ **Padfoot,**_

 _ **Actually, at Hogwarts alone it happened twenty-seven times. But we've gotten distracted. Why do you need a house-sitter?**_

Sirius had to put some thought into his reply. As far as he knew Dumbledore hadn't told Remus about Riddle, so although the thought of lying to his best friend left a bitter taste in his mouth, he'd no choice.

 _Moony,_

 _Someone Dumbledore knows is staying at my house for a few days. I'm going to a party and need someone to watch him._

 _ **Padfoot,**_

 _ **I know you're lying.**_

 _Moony,_

 _I'm sorry. I'll tell you everything soon, I promise._

* * *

Sirius regretted his decision to accept the invitation less than a minute after arriving. The Malfoys were there, all right, and so were at least fifty other people who should be arrested for Dark magic, supporting You-Know-Who, blood prejudice, or just being intolerable bores. That meant that the vast majority of people in the room were people he loathed. He'd never envied Remus, who he had left sitting in the living room of Grimmauld Place and doing a crossword puzzle, more than he did now. But it was too late to get out of it now. He gritted his teeth and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible while finding some way of speaking to Narcissa.

She saved him a lot of trouble by approaching him almost as soon as she saw him.

"How good to see you, cousin," she said with patent insincerity after casting a privacy spell. "I hope you've recovered from your ordeal."

Sirius muttered something incomprehensible. Which ordeal was she talking about? he wondered. Having to live with Riddle or having to let his godson go back to Hogwarts while a certain rat was scurrying somewhere around Britain? She couldn't be referring to Azkaban; not even Narcissa, who like all well-bred pureblood women was queen of the understatement, could call that an "ordeal". Luckily she didn't seem to want a response. She continued talking, and he waited impatiently for an opportunity to bring up the subject of Harry and Draco.

He didn't have to. She brought it up without any prompting.

"I believe you know that Lucius and I have a daughter?"

"Harry's mentioned her," Sirius said, which was perfectly true. There had been at least one day during the holidays when Harry had talked for hours about nothing but what Draco had done or said. Everyone within hearing range had been well and truly sick of hearing about Draco by the time he moved onto another subject.

Narcissa nodded as if she'd expected as much. "She is much the same age as Harry, and they are in the same year. They must spend a great deal of time around each other."

"Stop right there, Narcissa," Sirius warned. "I know where this is going. You want Harry to marry your daughter."

"Not to _marry_ her – yet," Narcissa corrected. "But to become engaged to her, and to marry her when they're seventeen or so."

"No."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what reason do you have for refusing to even consider the idea?"

"One: they're twelve. They're too young to be engaged. Two: you haven't considered what they think about it. Three: why did you even think of it in the first place? I don't think your Death Eater friends would like it if your daughter married a half-blood, especially a half-blood who defeated You-Know-Who?"

"They aren't too young to be engaged. You've spent too much time around," she shuddered as if the word left a bad taste in her mouth, "Muggleborns. I'm sure they'll both come round to the idea in time. And to address your third point, if Draco became engaged to the saviour of the Wizarding world, the Malfoys would regain the respect we lost. Now, if you'll excuse me, cousin, Lucius will be wondering where I am."

She cancelled the privacy spell and swept away before Sirius could even formulate a response. He glared after her.

Never let it be said that a Marauder gave up easily. Sirius would dissuade Narcissa from her matchmaking attempts if it was the last thing he did.


End file.
